


Being Neighbors

by mysticaljayne



Series: Being Neighbors [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, F/M, Makes for some interesting times, More tags to be added, New Beginnings, Not too secretive, Slow Build, You are Bucky's neighbor, You have a secret background, You love to cook, mostly - Freeform, not very good, or will be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:12:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 35
Words: 41,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6950038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticaljayne/pseuds/mysticaljayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being in a new city brings it's own problems. Living next door to a guy with even more issues than you do brings even more. Who knew the hot guy you gave pies to could become so much more?</p><p> </p><p>**The warning is for flashbacks/memories. I tried to keep it vague.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Starting Over Somewhere New

It is hard to travel across the country to start a new life, but you have done it. You have cut off ties with your past, and you are ready for the future. You are ready for this change. You are ready to start tomorrow today.

 

You smile when the landlord gives you a key and shows you up to your new apartment. The floor is scuffed and in need of a good cleaning, the walls need to be washed down, and the counter in the kitchen looks to be stained with something better speculated about tomorrow. The furniture was obviously used, but came with the apartment. Same for the appliances. It was, to put it plainly, wonderful.

 

“Rent’s due at the first of the month.” You barely hear the landlord tell you, but you remember to nod so he’ll know that you heard. He leaves the apartment with the door closing behind him.

 

You dance throughout the apartment, glad that you are free. You are a thousand miles away from everyone that knew the old you. You aren’t her anymore. You aren’t a victim, and you never will be again. You are a thousand miles away from the past, and that is how it will stay.

 

This apartment is your new paradise. Your new freedom. Your new future.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The future sucks. This city sucks. Job hunting sucks. Everything sucks. Coming here was a sucky idea after a long list of sucky ideas.

 

Your feet are killing you. Muscles are hurting that you didn’t even know that existed from walking all over this god forsaken place to go job hunting. The only places hiring are minimum wage, especially since you can’t call in references. Your clothes are wet from an impromptu shower (Read, some idiot drove into a puddle and covered you in street water). You don’t even want to look at your hair or makeup at this point.

 

At least you were able to pick up groceries. The check out lady did give you weird looks with your soaking hair and smeared eyeliner, but at least you had all of the material you would need to start on baking. The plan is to try baking a pie from one of the recipes you found online. Cooking always relaxed you, and after the day you had? You need all of the relaxing you can get.

 

Stress = nightmares

 

You really didn’t want to have flashbacks tonight. You needed your rest to keep on job hunting tomorrow.

 

Hopefully, you remembered to pick up the right ingredients for the pie. If not? Well, a part of baking is being creative.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The thing you take out of the oven three hours later looks nothing like the picture that came with the recipe you found. It didn’t even smell like apple pie.

 

You shrug, though, and put the pie on the counter to cool for tomorrow. Maybe it’ll look better in the morning.


	2. Pumpkin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet your neighbor!! Kind of. Sort of. Not really. Sorry.

Whatever that _thing_ is sitting on your counter, it is definitely NOT apple pie. How did you mess up apple pie? You have no clue. You followed the instructions, mostly, and put most of the right ingredients in it. You mean, exchanging regular sugar for powdered shouldn’t have messed it up that bad. Or putting in a tablespoon of salt when the recipe called for ¼ of a teaspoon (You didn’t know when you added the salt, but checked after taking a bite of the piece of the thing).  
  
You guess that the biggest reason for it not tasting anything like apple pie was because you had, somehow, forgot to grab the main ingredient: apples. You had some avocados in the fridge (You were wanting to make some guacamole later on) and they had kind of looked like apples last night. And avocados are fruit, right?

 

Yeah, it’s a fruit. You just looked it up last night before using it as a substitute for

 

So, since it is a fruit, and kind of looks like an apple, it should work as a substitute ingredient, right?

 

You find the notebook you keep in a drawer and write yourself a note about never doing that again. But what are you going to do with the rest of the pie? You mean, it tastes disgusting to you, but someone else might like it. Maybe. Hopefully.  


You stick it in the fridge for later. Hopefully you’ll have an idea tonight when you come back from job hunting.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Another bust at job hunting, and still no response from the places you already submitted applications to. You know that getting upset about not having a response is kind of foolish, but you had still hoped for something. You still have money saved up, so you aren’t hurting that much, but you would really like to go ahead and start your life here without having to resort to using what you refer to as ‘blood money’.

 

You’ll be fine on your savings. You know it. You can stand on your own two feet. You don’t need what that…person gave you in restitution. You have yourself and you’ll be fine. You know it.

 

You just wish that someone would call you back for at least a job interview…just a chance to show them what you are capable of. That is what you want. You just want a chance.

 

But they won’t give it to you, and so you go back to the default. You buy more ingredients to make another pie. This time, you check your phone for the ingredients and make sure that you actually get the right things this time. No more playing substitution, you are going for the real deal. Surely you can’t mess up if you follow the directions exactly. Hopefully.

 

You make it back to the apartment. The elevator was out. Go figure, and you had to pack the bags up the stairs. Good for exercise, but your feet are still hurting from earlier and this just means more of your body is hurting.

 

You swear when you drop the bag with the can of pumpkin on your foot. Yes, the pie this time is pumpkin. Surely you can’t mess up pumpkin pie, right?

 

You are fighting with your keys some more when someone passes behind you and goes to the door by your own. You don’t look up until you have the key in the door, but only have time to see long dark hair before the door is shut. You just saw your neighbor and don’t think he seemed to be very friendly. You shrug it off. At the moment, you aren’t there to make friends. Not yet, anyway. Right now, you are on your way to making yourself a pumpkin pie.

 

Hopefully it’ll turn out better than the apple one.


	3. Giving away Apple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally! The apple pie in the refrigerator is getting a home.

You look down sadly at the pumpkin pie sitting on the table. If you ignore the black, it kind of looks like a pie. Kind of.

 

OK, not really, but at least it is still a pie. It doesn’t smell good, and that’s even after putting some whip cream on it. You tried a piece, but like the Not-Apple Apple Pie, it tasted awful to your taste buds.

 

Yes, you had pie for breakfast. Call in the health police if you are that concerned. After the past few months and days, you feel that you can splurge a bit. At least, you can try to eat a sweet that you had created.   
  
You may need to think about baking something other than pies…maybe cookies? A cake? You mean, the saying is “easy as cake”, so maybe making cake is easy? Hopefully. Maybe. Who knows?

 

Stupid pie. Stupid ex. Stupid…just stupid life.

 

You sigh at the pie as though it was the symbol of all of your problems. It’s not, but the look you give it would probably set it back on fire if you had that ability.

 

You don’t. The curse of being human.

 

The alarm on your phone starts to go off and you have another reason to be annoyed at adulthood. It’s time to start job hunting again.

 

As you leave your apartment, you lock the door and look over to see the neighbor from last night leaving at the same time as you. Huh, that was kind of odd, but not really. You’ve never been the most observant of people.

 

Your gaze doesn’t leave him. Something about him has caught your attention, and your thoughts go in circles ranging from ‘Hot’ to ‘Not again’.  “Hey, sexy.” He looks over at you and you fight the urge to smack yourself in the head. Did you seriously just say that? Seriously?

 

He doesn’t seem offended, but he doesn’t say anything either. In fact, his expression seems to be almost completely blank, and a part of you is thrilled at the predator look in his dark eyes.

 

Another part is screaming ‘Run!’, but you’ve never listened to that part (which has led to some interesting times).

 

In for a penny, in for a pound, right? May as well dig your grave a bit more. “Do you want some pie? I baked a couple and I can’t eat them by myself.” He’s still not responding, but you put the key back in the lock to undo it. Before entering, you motion him to follow you on in.

 

You would think that he was a statue, but you are surprised that he actually follows you into the main room. His eyes shifting, you take note of, but he is still following you as you pick out one of the pies. You get the Non-Apple Apple Pie. That one didn’t smell as though it had caught on fire (at least you had a fire extinguisher last night and the alarm didn’t go off). “I kind of experimented with an apple pie recipe. It wasn’t quite to my taste, but maybe it’ll be to yours?”

 

He nods and the blankness in his expression seems to be switching over to a bit of confusion. You have the pie handed out to him with the expectation that he will take it. He looks between the pie and back to your face before he reaches out with his right hand to grab the container and pull it towards him. You are kind of staring at his face, hoping to hear him say something, but he doesn’t.

 

The moment is ruined by the reminder alarm you made so that you would actually leave the house instead of calling it quits and using something as a target with a pillow. “You tell me how it tastes, okay? If you like it, I can give you some more. I’ll probably end up baking another one tonight.” You follow him out the door, kind of glad you didn’t have to push him out.

 

Thinking about it…inviting a strange guy into your apartment may not have been the smartest idea. But at least you have gotten rid of one of the pies that you really didn’t want to meet.

 

You lock the door before waving and smiling at your neighbor as you take off down the stairs. You are near the bottom before remembering that you don’t have his name, nor did you give him yours.

 

At least today seems to be a bit brighter. Who knows? Maybe you’ll find your dream job on today’s search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first wrote this, it was at night when I should have been heading to bed. I was annoyed at how few James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader there were, so convinced myself to go ahead and actually start writing this little idea that had been jumping around my mind.
> 
> I wouldn't mind a review to tell me what you readers are thinking. I didn't expect so many people to be interested when I started writing this. (To be honest, I was going to remove it in the morning after posting the first chapter for not thinking it was that good after sleeping on it).
> 
> Also, suggestions for pies for you to make? And how you ruin them?


	4. Today calls for chocolate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the suggestions! Sorry for taking so long on writing this one. Hopefully you will enjoy it. I haven't used any of the suggestions in this chapter, but I should in the next one.

You didn’t find your dream job. You did find a part time position for a waitress, though, so that’s better than nothing. You work around thirty hours a week, and then paid $3 plus whatever tips you get. It doesn’t seem too bad, as long as your tips are good.

 

You stop at the grocery store before heading on back to the apartment. You still don’t think of the place as home, and if you think about it, you probably never will. This was a place to hide from the past. A place for you to keep on surviving in a world you aren’t feeling to fond of.

 

You should be more excited at getting a job, but you really aren’t; you’re mostly sad. Your mind keeps wandering back to ‘what if’ and ‘could have’. Think about what could have been isn’t productive but creating something from nearly nothing is. It is part of the reason why you make your pies. You want to actually have some form of control over what happens. You want to be a creator of something, instead of just surviving.

 

Tonight is a night for chocolate, and so you decide on making a chocolate meringue pie. You pick up the ingredients and thinking about creating this pie has your mind go back to your neighbor. Did he actually like the Non-Apple Apple pie? You have to be sure to ask if you see him the hall when you get back.

 

You walk the rest of the way to the building and groan when you see the ‘Out of Service’ sign still on the elevator. While taking the stairs is good for your health, but you kind of would like to not have to walk up all of those flights. Those are a lot of stairs, especially to be carrying groceries (albeit, just supplies for this pie, but you get the point).

 

You finally make it to your floor and was impressed with how you weren’t huffing and puffing like you had the first few times. You were getting in better shape with all this walking and stair climbing.  You guess that is a positive. You put down your supplies before checking for your keys in your pockets.  


They weren’t there.

 

“Great. Just great.” You mumble to yourself as you recheck your pockets and take out your phone and wallet. You pat down your pockets again, but still no keys. Where could you have put those blasted things?

 

You remember leaving that morning with them. Or did you actually leave with them? You must have had the keys when you first locked the door because you then unlocked them to get back into your apartment. You went in, grabbed the pie, and left. But did you have the keys then?

 

You faintly remember that you locked the door, but you were in a rush. Did you use the key to lock the door, or the little switch on the door knob? Key? Or switch?

 

You ponder the question a few more times before the memory comes back to you. You used the key! You pretend that you were doing the same thing that you were doing this morning in locking the door, and you proceed to turn around and…You turn back to the door with a groan.

 

You left the key in the lock. Of course you would do that. Absentmindedness is what led to the On-Fire Pumpkin Pie. You had put it in the oven, and then proceeded to be distracted by something on the TV. You don’t even remember what it was, or how long it had been, before smoke had started to fill the apartment and you had to put out the flame inside of the oven.

 

Which brings you back to your problem. You are locked out of your apartment, with no key in sight. Who took the key? Because it certainly didn’t just disappear into thin air. Your eyes wander over to the door next to your own. Maybe…just maybe your neighbor had decided to be neighborly and took the key to keep others from being able to break in.

 

Or he could have taken the key as a way to make you helpless…

 

You try not to think like that, but dark thoughts rise to the forefront of your mind from time to time. You are single in a new city, so in a way, you would be a perfect target. However, not everyone is as bad as the people in your past. Not everyone is out to hurt one another. Some people are inherently kind. ‘Some, not all,’ your mind reminds itself just as you make the decision to ask the sexy neighbor.

 

You leave the bags by the door as you go towards the door, a bit apprehensive at what you are about to do. You reach up a hand and knock on the door and waited for him to answer.

 

It took a while before the door open to reveal a face with hair falling forward to cover a part of the chiseled jaw. You wait for him to comment about you being at his door, but he doesn’t. He just looks at you, a half smirk on his face as if he had a secret joke that only he knew. His eyes told you a different story. While there was a bit mirth about the edges, pain was in their depths.

 

You knew that pain. You saw it in your own eyes if you looked too long in the mirror. Your past has molded you into who you are today, but it doesn’t mean that it didn’t leave any scars, visible or otherwise. “Um, remember me from this morning?”

 

He nods and you mentally berate yourself for such a foolish question. Of course he would have remembered you from this morning. It has only been a few hours, after all.

 

“Well, um, did you happen to notice if I left the key in the door?” You try to make the question sound offhanded and not at all important, but the slight crinkling of his eyes tells you that he must know something. Something that must be slightly humorous to him. You might be focusing a bit too much on him, but his minute changes in expression are the only clues you have to what is going behind his expression.

 

Another nod to your question, which just leads you to asking another one.

 

“Do you have my keys?” You are starting to get a little annoyed at how he just keeps nodding, but something about him has caught your attention. You are betting on how hard he is to read, and the pain that seems to be hidden beneath indifference.

 

He nods again, the humor that you saw before still on his face. Hidden, but there. You had learned to try to see the little things that gave clues into how someone would react to something that you would do. That was something positive that you learned, you guess.

 

You sigh and hold out a hand, palm up. “Can I have them?”

 

He closes the door and you wait there, kind of shocked. Did he seriously just shut a door in your face? Wow, first time for everything. He opens the door after around fifteen seconds, though, and hands you a pie plate. He doesn’t close the door until you look down.

 

In the center of the clean (He cleaned it? Wow, you are mostly surprised that he even ate it. Especially that much of it.) pie plate is your keys. “Thank you. What did you think about the pie?”

 

Any of the humor you saw before was gone, but he looked you straight in the eyes and told you, “Good.”

 

In the eyes means that he isn’t lying, right? You smile at his response, “Good! How do you feel about pumpkin?” Maybe he’ll actually want another one? You’ll have someone to share your creations with!

 

He’s still staring at you, the blank expression that you associate with that of some type of predator. “It’s nice.”

 

“Great!” You walk (ok, maybe bounce is more accurate) to your own door. “I’ll bring you some.” You wave as you enter your place.

 

You miss his grimace as he shuts his own door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mistakes are my own. If you see any? Just tell me in a comment or something so I can go ahead and fix it.


	5. Ready to Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, it has been a very strange week. Or two weeks? I'm not quite sure at this point. Drama...you have to love it. I'm just stuck with some that I never thought to be in.
> 
> Hopefully you'll like this chapter. The story is speeding up a bit. Enjoy.

Last night you gave the pumpkin pie to your neighbor, James. You learned his name when you brought the pie over. He seemed to be kind of confused at your question at first, but finally told you ‘You can call me James’ as though he had another name that didn’t feel quite right to him. You are curious about his story (not mentioning his good lucks) and want to keep someone around to whom you can dispose of your creations.

 

You may think that they are disgusting, but he seemed to really enjoy eating them. Or maybe he was just being nice?

 

No, someone like him isn’t just nice to someone like you. It’s a lesson that you did learn, and learned well. Nobody that good looking looks at you for you, but only for a way to get something out of you. Life taught you that lesson, and you really wish that the world was a bit more like school.

 

At least in school you had a chance to study the material before being tested.

 

Never mind. That is in the past, and today is the future. You have your first shift. Early morning, but that’s not too bad. You are the new worker, and so you are probably going to have the strangest of schedules for a while until you earn a bit of seniority. Maybe, eventually, you’ll be able to pick your own schedule instead of taking the times that no one else wants. Today is morning. Tomorrow? The evening shift.

 

At least it’s a pay check.

 

You quickly get dressed and ready for the day. You lock the door (making sure you have the key this time, though seeing James again would be nice) but before you take off down the stairs, you take a look over at his door. It is closed this morning and you really don’t have time to knock.

 

Maybe this afternoon?

 

Yep, you promise yourself. You will talk to him when you get off work. Preferably after taking a shower. You need to know how he liked the pie.

 

And maybe invite him over for the chocolate meringue, though it looked more like chocolate pudding with an omelet on top. You haven’t tried it, yet. Who knows? Maybe he’ll be willing to try it with you. He might even like it!!!

 

  ~~~~

* * *

 

 

Today was longer than you had planned. Your feet hurt. Your head hurts. You are especially tired of how rude some of the customers could get, especially the married ones. This is so not your forte, but it is a job. A job that he would never suspect you of getting because it is so different than what you did before. He never would think that you would stoop to doing this to hide, but you are.

 

You make it to your door and don’t even bother opening it, you just slide down in front of it. Great, you are thinking about the past, again. ‘The past is in the past,’ you re-remind yourself. It is hard, though, running from something that you can’t fight back. Or can’t return to. You really miss your family and friends. The loneliness is threatening to overwhelm you see a familiar dark head.

 

James is there, and giving you a very funny look. Well, you are sitting outside of your door and glaring at a set of keys, so it kind of makes sense that he would be looking at you like that. You guess that only crazy people just sit out in the walkway. You notice his perfect mouth moving, but it takes a few moments for you to pull yourself out of your funk to be able to understand what he’s saying.

 

“You alright?” He asks you, and you force a smile. You know it looks forced, because his expression is barely changing, but just enough for you to know he doesn’t believe you.

 

You may be staring at your overly hot neighbor a bit too much. “Peachy.” You start to get up when he holds out his right hand, palm up. You look at it for a moment, before taking the offer and being pulled to your feet. “Just a long day.” The silence stretched into potentially awkward. He starts to turn to his own apartment when you reach out a hand to stop him. Your fingers barely brush his cloth covered arm, but you can feel him tense. You pull your hand back, and you know you probably look as nervous as you feel. You’ve never been that good at hiding your emotions. “Would you like to have some dinner with me?” It just felt wrong to invite him straight over for pie without food first. Who knows? You may invite him afterwards to come back to your place for pie if he actually says yes and the dinner goes over well.

 

This was probably not your smartest idea…or plan, but it just felt kind of strange to just ask him over for pie without something else. You needed to take some chances, and to start trusting people again. It was time to truly let go of the past.

 

“Yes.” His voice is soft, almost as if he wasn’t quite certain of his answer. He turns and looks into your eyes as he says, “I want to.” His eyes are widened slightly, as if he’s a bit surprised.

 

You are surprised yourself, but even more than that, you are excited. “Great! I know the perfect place. Meet you here at seven? You eat pizza, right?”

 

He looks a bit confused, but nods anyway. Now you have a plan, but you also need a shower. You wave as you fight with the keys to open the door. “See you in a bit!” You race into your home, almost trip, and close the door behind yourself.

 

You race to the bathroom, stripping as you go. Taking a shower is now at the top of list of things you to do tonight.

 

Under the spray, you mentally wash away your fears. James isn’t like him, and the past will not be repeated here, even if it does feel vaguely like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you see? I finally used one of the suggestions! Thank you to the reviewers and all of the suggestions. I plan on trying to use all of the ideas. If you have any others, just write them below. If you have opinions of this that you wish to share? Write below as well. I like getting feedback. It helps me to know which way I need to go.
> 
> Sorry for how short this chapter is, though.


	6. On to the Date!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it has been a while, but I hope you all enjoy it. Like in the tags, this is slow build. Likely, potentially incredibly slow build. I hope to have another chapter up before next Friday. It's good to have goals, right?

At seven on the dot, you are standing outside of your door. You picked out something nice, but not too nice. You want to make a good impression, but not the wrong type of good. It’s a careful balance to be able to give both, you know.

 

You look over at his door and wait for him to come out. You check your phone to see if maybe, just maybe, you had looked at the time wrong.  
  
Nope, you are right on time. So where is he?  
  
Five minutes afterwards, he opens his door and walks out to you. You can’t keep your eyes off of him. He’s wearing his usual long sleeve shirt, but he just seems to be even more attractive than earlier. He walks as though he is a wild animal wearing civility as like a cloak. “So, uh, you ready to go?” Real smooth, you reprimand yourself, but it doesn’t seem to change his expression.

 

“Yes.” His one worded answers are kind of annoying, but you are kind of glad for them at this moment. You are nervous enough for the both of you, and you are starting to slightly regret your decision. Just slightly. This was a big step for you, but one you actually want to take.

 

You want to get to know your mysterious neighbor.

 

You lead the way down the stairs, silently cursing the supor for still not getting the elevator fixed. While good for the waistline, it was bad for when you want to look sexy and not just sweaty. Right now, you are hoping for the look of flushed. You look at him when you finally get to the bottom floor and feel an irrational sense of…You are not sure what to call it, but he looks like he didn’t even break a sweat. Ugh, just the thing to hit the self-esteem to a lower notch on the ladder.

 

You fiddle as you lead the way on down the street. “It’s not far, so I thought we could just walk?” He nods, not even bothering with giving a worded response this time. Hopefully he’ll be more talkative over the pizza.

 

It really is good pizza. You went there the first night that you got to this place to celebrate. Heck, a person’s got to eat.

 

You two walk the short distance to the place and lead the way to the back. He takes the chair with his back to the wall, kind of odd, but you don’t really notice. You kind of like being away from the front and all of the eyes up there. The less people see you, the less likely you are to be recognized and word to get back to…

 

Ugh, you really need to stop being to paranoid. This was just a simple outing with your neighbor, a way to get to know someone that you actually find to be interesting. You want to know what is underneath the brooding looks…and if you are being honest to anyone, you may as well be to yourself, what is underneath all of the clothing he wears.

 

He’s hot. You admit it, even if just inside of you mind.

 

You are sitting across from when someone comes and ask what you want. You look to James for some guidance as, but he’s looking a bit lost so you take over. “Today’s pizza special, and water for both.” Him looking a little lost was a bit like how you used to be, before you started learning a few things about the world beyond the glitter and walls. “So, James, where do you come from?”

 

He finally focuses on you instead of the sweep of the room that he had been preoccupied in doing. “Brooklyn.” You have never been there, at least not knowing.

 

You had been dragged to many places in your previous life without knowing where you were headed. “Brooklyn? Is it a nice place?” Great, small talk. At least it’s not too awkward.

 

“Yes.” His eyes are back to looking around the room, and you fight the urge to just sigh and call it quits. This was your idea and you’re… He’s back to putting his full attention back on you, and it is just a bit startling when he asked, “Is this a date?”

 

Luckily, at this moment the waters were put on the table and you can grab one to cover a bit of the shaking in your hands. “Maybe? I hope so.” You really hope so, and he doesn’t look opposed. Well, he really doesn’t look like he has many emotions going on behind his shadowed eyes. You make a mental note to try to play poker with him. He’d probably win. So, maybe strip poker? In the future, not tonight, of course.

 

“In that case,” his focus is still on you, but now he is smiling. His smile really lights up his face and keeps your attention even more on him, “call me Bucky.”

 

“Bucky.” You try out the name, and for some reason you think that it suits him better than James does. “So, um, Bucky, do you want this to be a date?”

 

He leans on back, and takes another sweep of the room. “Not opposed.” Well, that wasn’t a no, nor was it a yes. “I’m just…I have some things I have to deal with before I’m…”

 

Wow, that was probably more words than he has spoken in the entire time since you met him. Maybe, possibly. At least, it seems to be the most words he has spoken at one time in your presence. “Hey,” you reach out to hold one of his gloved hands. “No expectations, okay? I just want to get to know you. That’s all.”

 

“Know me?” A type of caution was in his eyes that you remember being in yours just a few hours ago. Why would he fear you? Seriously, he looks like he could kill you with his pinky, while his eyes were closed.

 

You nod, though, and take a quick look to see what was holding up the pizza. “Yes. I want to get to know you. What you like to do. What kind of foods you eat. Um, I don’t know. Just other stuff.” You also want to know how he could possibly enjoy your pies, but that’s a different story. “You ate my pies, that automatically puts you in a category to be looked further at.”

 

It may sound a bit robotic, but it is kind of how your mind works. “Your pies were delicious.” You can’t stop the smile from your face as you look to see if there is any deception coming from him. He seems to be honest. He really does enjoy your pies!

 

“Thank you.” You then build up your courage, “I was kind of hoping that you could, um…” You are cut off by the arrival of the pizza, and whatever bravery you had was lost in the interruption.

 

The pizza was good, and so neither of you really had to feel the silence with anything more than the soft crunching of teeth as each of you eat your individual slices. He had waited until you ate a slice before starting to eat too, but he seems to enjoy it. You knew this place was right for him.

 

“What were you going to ask?” He was finished, but you had to wipe some of the sauce that had fallen on your chin. Your mother would say you had a hole in your mouth, but like everyone from your past, you haven’t seen her in a long time.

 

Back to the question, you remind yourself to stay. “Pie. I have chocolate meringue pie in my apartment.” You start to ramble further, though, on the appearance, “Well, not really meringue. I think I messed up on the meringue part, so it looks more like an omelet covering chocolate pudding. I haven’t tried it yet. So, I was, um…”

 

“I would like to try this…chocolate meringue pie.” You breathe out the breath that was still left in you. He had taken the asking out of your hands, and had given you the answer you hadn’t dare to ask.

 

You smile, and wave for the check. This time, you would pay. Twenty-first century and all that. “Good.” You reach to get your wallet but he stalls you with a look.

 

He takes the check from you and pulls out some cash from somewhere. “My ma raised me to be a gentleman.” He smiles, as though this was kind of shocking to him. As though he had a memory that he didn’t expect to come back.

 

He pays. A part of you is annoyed, because you can take care of yourself, thank you very much, but another part is kind of happy that he mentioned his mother. You know that he didn’t come from a bottle in some lab, but it is nice to feel as though he was being honest about his mother. Him paying wasn’t a way to assert his dominance, but as a way to show respect.

 

It was sweet, in a kind of old fashion way.

 

The two start to walk back to the apartment building that both of you live in. This time, however, instead of separating in the hall, he was going to follow you on into your apartment.

 

Maybe not the smartest idea, but he had been in there before. Something told you that he was someone that you could trust. That he didn’t have a monster hidden beneath his sardonic smile.


	7. Chocolate-Omelet Meringue Pie, anyone??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one night? What is this world coming to? lol  
> I hope this one is as well received as the earlier one. Enjoy.

The walk back to your apartment was uneventful. Literally, you spent the time trying to not make a fool of yourself while he kept glancing every which way. Heck, even once you thought he might have been about to rip someone’s throat out for looking too long. Like you thought earlier, kind of sweet, but also unnerving.

 

You have your key (yay!) and open the door for him to enter. He starts to follow you to the kitchen, but you motion him to take a seat on the couch. Surely something would be on to fill the silence. His answers were hardly long enough to make a dint in the quiet that you would start to try to fill with your rambling. At least you feel like you are rambling, it’s kind of hard to tell with his expression.

 

Note to self: pay closer attention to his expressions. You need to be a worthy opponent at poker for him. Seriously, he seems able to turn off all emotions from showing even a bit. It is scary, if you let yourself think about it, that he is able to conceal so much. For what else is he concealing?

 

No memories, just Chocolate-Omelet Meringue Pie. It looks nothing like the image with the omelet thing on top, but hopefully leaving the yellow in the meringue part hasn’t ruined it. Hopefully. You aren’t quite sure as to that, though. You haven’t tried it yet.

 

You grab a knife, two plates, and a couple of spoons to eat with. Spoons should be easier to eat the pie with. Maybe. Maybe you should also grab a thing to lift the pie pieces out with? Meh, you have used just a knife before so it should be fine.

 

You walk on into the living area, a bit surprised that he’s turned on the news. One look, though, and your eyes are wide and you’re fumbling to turn the thing off. “Sorry.” You apologize, even if it seems a bit false, “I’m not a big fan of the news.”

 

Well, you are not a big fan of _that_ news. You recognized the face on the screen, and you really don’t want to ever see that face again. Somehow, the bastard was out. You take a moment to compose yourself before smiling a smile you have been practicing at your waitressing gig.

 

He doesn’t look convinced, but tonight is not the night for confessions. Nor is it a night for bad memories. Tonight is for fun, because so far you have been having fun. Companionable almost silence really was nice after working.

 

You still have the knife in your hand, even after putting the pie, plates, and spoons on the little table in front of the couch. “Uh, sorry.” You turn the blade hilt out towards him to grab. He looks between the handle, and then at you, as though surprised that you trust him with a sharp blade.

 

But the look is quickly gone as he starts to cut the pie into pieces. The cuts are deliberate, and each slice seems to be perfectly alike the others. “Are you a chef?” You must have said that out loud, because he actually chuckles.

 

His chuckling seems to surprise himself, but he doesn’t stop when you smile at him encouragingly. “No, I just have a bit of practice with knives.” He hands you a plate and you sit down next to him.

 

You are staring at the pie with a mixture of disgust and curiosity. Do you even want to try this thing? You’ve tried the others, but the others didn’t have an orange like thing on top of it. You glance over at his plate, and are slightly surprised to see most of the pie is gone. “You must really like the pie.”

 

Your comment seems to break his focus on eating the…thing and he gives you a small smile. “I told you that I like your pies.” You turn back to your own plate to get yourself a bite, not noticing how he turned back to the plate with a curl of his nose.

 

You try the thing and you are able to swallow the first bite. Chocolate and egg is the only way you can think to describe it. Which, isn’t really so much bad, as just _wrong_ tasting. The texture is just off, and eggs shouldn’t be sweet. Just…no. But a glance at his plate has you going back to your own. If he can eat your creation, so can you. It’s a matter of pride.

 

You put the plate on the table with a proud smirk on your face, and turn to him so that he can see it fully. “Do you want to take some home with you?” You guess a bit of the challenge is still in your eyes, because he looks kind of concerned but nods anyway.

 

You walk him to the door, still smiling at how well the night has gone so far. He doesn’t kiss you, or even reach to give you a hug, but he does take the Chocolate-Omelet Meringue pie with him, much to your gratitude.

 

You watch him as he goes to his own place next door, instead of entering, he waits to make sure you have closed your door before entering his own.

 

That night, you only have to muffle your screams once. Truthfully, you thought your nightmares would be worse tonight than they have been in a long time. You shouldn’t have thought that he would be locked behind bars for the rest of his life. You shouldn’t have even entertained the idea that the nightmare would ever be over for you.

 

‘I won’t stop until I find you.’

 

That seems very sweet in movies when the hero says that to the heroine, but like most things, the reality ends up being much creepier than fantasy. Who says the heroine wants the hero to find her? Or that the hero is the hero? And not the villain?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect this one to take the dark turn it did, but when I asked someone earlier today about where to put a potential scene (not in this chapter, but will be seen later on, possibly) I was told
> 
> "Just go with it"
> 
> and so I did. This was the result. Enjoy.


	8. Double shifts are the worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter may contain triggers

You woke the next morning with a groan and the blaring sound of you alarm clock going off next to your ear. You glare at the offending piece of furniture (object, whatever, you’re too tired), and slam your hand down to shut the thing up. It is way too early to get up. Way too early to go deal with people.

 

Instead of throwing the cover over your head like you want to, you get on up with a groan. You find a pair of pants and put them on along with a sweater. You can change in the bathroom at work. You really don’t want to walk down the street with your uniform on. Seriously, getting charged with indecent exposure is definitely on your list of things you don’t want to deal with this morning.

 

You race out, making sure to lock the door behind you. You don’t have time to check in on Bucky, you are already running late. Hopefully you’ll be able to see him later on tonight when you get off. Today is supposed to be a double. Good time, and good money, but it will be a lot of time on your feet. Hopefully, you’ll get a somewhat stable schedule in the next few weeks. Getting up before the sun and walking home after the sunset leaves quite a bit to be desired.

 

You run down the stairs and out into the street, still jogging as you go on down to the restaurant/bar place that you have a job waitressing at. You enter the dark, smoky atmosphere and race back to the restroom in the back. You wave at one of the others, trying to ignore one person’s pointed look towards the clock.

 

Your three minutes being late has turned into seven by the time you leave the restroom wearing something tight enough to leave very little to the imagination. Good for the customers, you guess, but not so good for your comfort. The people coming in do enjoy the eye candy, so you assume that is part of the reason for the tight wardrobe.

 

You’ve had a few people grab your butt (two men and one woman, if you believe it), and someone who thought that you needed help getting a piece of ice out of your shirt (you didn’t). These four incidences all occurred before you even got a lunch break, which was even cut short because there was a rush of customers.

 

The job sucks, but as you told yourself earlier, it will pay the bills so you don’t have to touch that money. Two cities ago, he was still putting money in the account. If he keeps going at that rate, you should be close to being a millionaire, at least on paper. If you weren’t you, you may even think him putting money into your account was sweet. But you are you, and you know what he is capable of. You had enough bruises to last a lifetime while under his care. Heck, it was close to a lifetime that you were with him, if you let yourself count the years.

 

Without him, you wouldn’t be the person you are today. You aren’t quite sure if that’s a good thing or not. On one hand, you have a skillset that you probably would not have had if you had kept going to that public school. On the other, you actually wouldn’t have the nightmares that you have or be on the run from your old benefactor/boyfriend.

 

One shift done and another one left to do. This crowd was even wilder than the morning group. Which makes sense, because the earlier group is usually the families or the ones that just happened to be off work. The evening? A whole other ball game. These were the ones out looking for fun after a long day of work. And the worst part? It’s a Friday night.

 

You get through it, and you are so glad when your shift finally ends and you can run into the back to change into clothes that you can actually breath in. You feel the stress leaving as you finish changing and head back out to the front, which is even darker than it was when you entered. You keep the smile on your face when as you walk through the tables to the front doors to leave.

 

Hopefully today you gave a good impression to your boss so that your hours really can be better fixed up. Seriously, two shifts in a row with only halves earlier really isn’t something that you felt prepared for. Today was very long, but seemingly fruitful with how many tips you got.

 

The door closes behind you and you start on your walk back home. The sidewalk seems to be a lot darker at night than they did this morning, and the few shadows left to join the darkness were just longer. It has been a long day, and you know that the longer the day, the more likely your imagination was to play tricks.

 

You hear the footsteps before a forearm is wrapped around your neck and you are pulled flush against a much larger, and harder frame than your arm. You are pulled back into the alleyway before being pushed up against a wall. You are held to the wall by a hand around your throat, but you can tell that there are two other people besides the one keeping you in place.

 

None of them are wearing masks, and you know this to be a very bad sign. Wearing masks means they expect to leave you alive. Without a mask? You will be stuck as a witness. Or maybe they could just be incredibly drunk morons.

 

“Hey, Bill. Does this one look like fun to you?” The male to the left, lankier than the other three, with the darkest hair and skin of them, is the one to ask the question. Your brain is already analyzing details, and filling with possibilities of heritage along with a mental map of his face.

 

Ugh, your brain can really be a pain at times. You now have the voice down in your mind as well. A perfect memory to replay in your dreams if you survive through this. If you do, and you try not to dwell on it. You haven’t even had a chance to kiss Bucky yet!

 

The shorter, stockier one, with skin closer to caramel, nods and goes from one foot to the other, “Yeah.” He didn’t look as much into doing thing as his two companions. He would be considered the follower of the group, with the blonde holding your throat possibly being the ringleader. Possibly, because he could also just be the muscle.

 

You have all three faces memorized in the short time it takes for the blonde to answer, “Why would I pick this one if I didn’t think so?” No names that time, but you’ve already connected the stockier one to the name Bill. How in the world did this become your life? Oh, yeah, you decided to run instead of being a prisoner covered in diamonds.

 

You keep on counting from the beginning, keeping track of the seconds you have had restricted air access. Restricted, but not completely lacking. You know the difference between the two. You can stay conscious up to about thirty seconds when completely blocked. You knew that from experience.

 

You keep your breathing shallow, but you know to not hyperventilate. You have to keep your breathing under control. When your breathing is out of control, your lungs aren’t able to use what little oxygen you are getting. You keep track of the time, and how the three talk to one another. Observing the threat, and learning ways on how to avoid escalating the threat. You grew up learning how to do that, and you do it now.

 

Before the three men could come up with what they wanted to start on doing, the three of them are interrupted by a flashlight shining into the alleyway. “Hey, is everything alright in there?” Your eyes focus enough to slightly make out the police uniform behind the glare.

 

The one holding your throat releases his hold and backs up to his buddies. “We’re good, officers.” Each of them showed their nervousness in different ways. Bill put his hands in his pocket and shuffled one of his boots into the dirt. The tall one used his right hand to pick at the fingers on his left, with his full attention on each finger as he pulled on the nail. The blonde, though, just had the good boy look down. He wasn’t shifting, but his smile had a bit more of an edge to it, he was also the one to answer the question.

 

You glance at the three before scurrying over to the two standing in the alleyway. You smile at the two of them, “I’m fine.” You know they can tell you are lying, especially since the two of them looked at one another after your answer.

 

“We’ll walk you home.” The slightly smaller one of the two answered for the both of them. You are about to tell them that they didn’t need to, but the three men were still in the alleyway.

 

You force another smile, “Thanks.” You keep on walking, flanked by the two officers that had saved you. Sort of. You can’t be sure that you wouldn’t have been fine anyway, even though the evidence points to another conclusion.

 

Neither of them talk or ask you questions on the way to the apartment building. You stop at the door, and turn to the both of them. Before you can send them on their way, the shorter one with the tag Thompson on his uniform asks, “Are you sure that nothing happened in the alley?”

 

You really can’t afford the attention of saying anything, you really can’t. “I’m sure.” Your smile is brittle, but you firmly keep it in place. This was a onetime thing and will not happen again. At least, you hope so. Maybe you should buy yourself some mace? Maybe.

 

The other officer, Smith, just gives a pointed look, as though trying to telepathically tell you to tell the truth, but you can’t give in. “Come on, Thompson.” He tells his partner, but before leaving tells you, “Have a good evening.”

 

You enter the main doors before Thompson actually leaves with Smith. Great, just great. You have caught the attention of two of the local cops. Just what you needed, attention from people that could easily be traced back to him. Just great.

 

You walk up the flight of stairs, hands shaking as the panic starts to overtake you. Without the object of the fear in front of you, all of the adrenaline that has been pumping through your veins pushes to the forefront of your mind. You try to put the key in the door, but the shaking has you drop the keys on the ground. When you bend down to grab the key, the shaking gets even worse.

 

You sit down, and put your back to your door, the keys dangling from your fingertips. You start to rock back and forth with the growing panic and your breathing starts to increase in speed. Sobs that you can’t hold back come out of your mouth, and you bite your fist to try to keep from being too loud.

 

You need to calm down. You need to slow your breathing. You need to get inside your apartment and lock the door. You aren’t safe out here, but you can’t seem to force yourself to do anything. You can’t get your fingers to grab the key that you need. You can’t get your feet under you.

 

All you can do is sit there and cry. Cry as the memories bombard you. Cry for the person you used to be. Cry for the loss of safety that you had thought you had just found. Just cry…

 

You don’t notice the door next to yours opening, or a head of dark hair looking out at you. Or the flash of silver as he pulls a glove over his left hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit of a nod out to the officers on the streets trying to keep people safe. The Dallas shooting was on my mind when I was writing the later part.
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you readers enjoy this story. Still no pie, but there should be one soon.


	9. Late night talks

You feel arms come around you and being pulled tight to another chest. Another one, but even larger and harder than before. Arms that you can’t break free from. Arms that can easily hold you down. Easily hurt you.

 

Without thinking, you are reacting. You try to squirm and twist your way free when a voice next to you ear, very soothingly says, “Breath with me.” You know that voice. How do you know that voice? “Come on, sugar.” Sugar? Who calls anybody sugar?

 

Oh, neighbor. Bucky. The person holding you is Bucky.

 

His breathing is exaggerated, but soothing as you try to slow your breathing down to match his. Your sobbing starts to fade as you have something to focus on. You focus on your breathing and making it match his. You almost have them match when his arms loosen around you and let go.

 

You are staring at him as he is staring at you. “Better, sugar?” Ah, crap. You probably look pretty ridiculous sitting in the dirty hallway crying. He probably just thinks that you’re crazy.

 

You look down at your hands to notice that the shaking has calmed down to just tremors. “How did you know to do that?” Still, the sugar thing is kind of strange, but sweet. You are mostly just glad that he didn’t call someone while you had your little freak out.

 

“Stevie…he used to have asthma attacks.” His face is scrunched up a bit, as though the memory of that was something he couldn’t quite catch. “Sometimes we didn’t have medicine…” He’s starting to look annoyed, not at you but more like at himself. It was as if the memory didn’t want to stay put in his mind. “What happened to your neck?” Or his look could have had something to do with there being potential bruising from where the blonde had held you.

 

You touch your throat with the hand that didn’t have the keys. “Oh, nothing serious. I’m fine.” He doesn’t look convinced. “Seriously, I’m okay.” It didn’t really hurt. Not really. You’ve had worse and your throat doesn’t feel like it really hurts.

 

You take his look as one of determination. At least that’s what you think the slight narrowing of his eyes means. He doesn’t ask you again, though he does stand up. Reaching out his right hand, he helps you to stand up. Then he glances at his door, as though about to leave.

 

But he can’t leave. You really don’t want to be alone. Not right now. Not when the memories are barely beneath the surface, just waiting for an opportunity to come and destroy whatever is left of your soul. “Wait.” You reach out, having to stop him. Needing him there. “Uh, do you think you can stay with me for a bit? No pressure.” You just need company, and so far your trust hasn’t been misplaced with him.

 

He nods, back to giving nonverbal answers. It still annoys you, but like on the sort-of date, it is starting to grow on you. Though, it makes most conversations feel a bit one-sided; as if he didn’t want you to know more about him. You want to learn about Stevie, whoever that is. Instead of waiting for you to lead the way, he’s heading back to his apartment with a finger held up as though telling you to wait.

 

He comes back with a small bag, a leather bound book, and a pen. You open the door and he follows behind you. With a wave of a hand, you motion him to take a place on the couch. “Back in a bit.” You change out of your clothes, take a quick shower, and throw on a pair of pajamas. Your clothes from earlier smelled too much like your place of work for you comfort, and were dirty from your escapade and crying.

 

You come back, a bit surprised that he hasn’t already went ahead to turn on the TV to drown out the night. Instead, he’s sitting on the couch, writing in the book that he brought. He closes it, though, just when you step close enough to maybe be able to read it. Just maybe.

 

You sit at the other end of the couch and turn the station to some kind of midnight cartoon that was showing. You turned down the volume so that it was just a background noise to cover up the outside world. “So, Bucky, what were you writing?”

 

Your question just seems to make him shrink. “Memories.” He won’t look at you, and you know the television isn’t that interesting. You’ve watched it plenty of nights when the memories kept you up.

 

Though you do wondering about what he means by memories. “Memories?” You put your feet under you, but your focus is on him and what he is about to say. Focusing on anything really is able to bring your mind away from earlier that night and the added memories you have from it.

 

He nods, slightly this time, and you think that may be in the end of it. He keeps looking at the TV, though, as if to avoid seeing your expression. “I have trouble remembering things from before.” He says that as if it is supposed to mean something, but to you it doesn’t. “Before I…before I was broken by the machine.”

 

You know this is important, but you aren’t quite sure as to the how of it. “Machine?” Now you are the one with the one-word responses, but you don’t want to interrupt

 

His gaze turns from the TV and to you, his eyes filled with the sadness that he usually kept deeper in his eyes. “Yes, machine. I had an assignment with a buddy of mine. He thought I died when I fell.” He shook his head, as though the memory wasn’t complete. “I don’t really remember what happened, but I guess enemy troops found me and dragged me to a lab. I lost my arm and my memories not long after that.”

 

You can’t stop your gaze from going to each of his hands, but you don’t ask about that. “Amnesia?” You guess that he may be self-conscious about the prosthetic. A very good one based on what you know about them.

 

You are not quite sure how to take the grin on his face, because the sadness seems to be gone. “Not quite.” It was more as though he had an inside joke about it all. But the smile didn’t stay long before going back into a mask when his eyes locked back on your throat. “Those are in the shape of fingerprints. Going to tell me happened?”

 

You lean your head back on the couch. You were kind of hoping that he would have forgotten about it, or at least have put it as something to deal with later. “Seriously, Bucky? I told you. Nothing.”

 

He doesn’t seem to like that answer, but he actually does drop it, for now. “Stevie was a bit like you. He always told me it was nothing when he got in fights with bullies.” He glances at his book before looking back at you. When you don’t say anything, he starts to write in it again.

 

You wait until he’s finished, a bit anxious to ask the question on your mind. “What happened? After the lab?” You squirm a bit when his full gaze is on you. It really in intimidating.

 

“I was brainwashed into being a mindless killing machine.” His face is completely serious, but as you noticed before, his poker face is a good one.

 

Your smile is a bit nervous, as you try to figure out if he is joking or not. “Really?” The smile on his face ruins the effect and you roll your eyes. “Fine, my mindless killing machine. Who is Stevie?”

 

“A runt that never learned to _not_ start fights with people twice his size.” A soft chuckle comes from him, and you start to relax, even though you want to stay awake to hear the rest. “He was always trying to protect people. I enlisted because of him…” you slip into sleep before you can hear the rest of his short speech, “and broke my conditioning for him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, still no pie. I just felt like that needed to be a bit of a heart-to-heart scene.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. I've been trying to take my time with writing the last few. I know I have a habit of summarizing instead of showing.
> 
> So, tell me what you think, dear readers.
> 
> Though, I'm starting to think it really is about time for there to be another pie.


	10. Man, this pillow is harder than you remember

The pillow that you are resting your head on is a lot harder than you remember. You snuggle deeper into the pillow, feeling edges that weren’t there the other night. The pillow is also moving, and something is stroking your hair.

 

Wait…stroking your hair?

 

Your eyes open up to take in your surroundings. The TV is in front of you and turned off. Nothing is on the table in front of you. Closer to your face you see black cloth covering a well-defined leg. A leg. You were sleeping in someone’s lap.

 

You are already moving as your brain connects all the dots. You move back and up, away from the very soothing touch. “Crap. Sorry. I didn’t. I mean…uh.”

 

“You snore.” He’s watching you with laughter dancing about on his face. Actual laughter.

 

You purse your lips in annoyance. “I do not.” You don’t snore. You recorded yourself enough times while sleeping. A side effect of your past was paranoia, and you always had to know what was happening when you were unconscious for quite a while after escaping.

 

He raises one eyebrow, silently questioning your assertion. “How do you know?” You guess that a good night sleep, or lack thereof, is probably affecting his sanity.

 

He was honest with you, and such you feel like you have to be honest with him as well. “I was under constant observation since I was eight until about two years ago. I’m pretty sure they would have told me at some point if I snored.” It was a method of control that you didn’t figure out until after you had escaped. When you first noticed the cameras, you were told that they were for your safety. You believed it. You were a naïve child.

 

You don’t react, even when his entire body tenses up and he looks as if he’s made of ice. “Why?” His voice is lower than it was before, with an accent that you can’t quite place.

 

This is the person that you could believe would be the mindless killer for some shady people, but you also know that Bucky is the kind of guy that can laugh at the past, and has his own demons to fight. The smile you have on your face is self-deprecating. “They told me it was for my protection. The reality was that it was more for his assurance. He wanted to keep track of his pet at all times.” ‘Pet’, a cute little nickname that out in public could take on much other turns in the privacy of a home. You knew that, and hated any references to you being property or an object to own.

 

Whatever was happening in his brain seemed to straighten out, for the Bucky you’ve actually started to trust is once again back. “You’re not a pet.” He seems to have categorized what you said somewhere in his mind because he’s still looking over you, as if to make sure you are in one piece. “Who is he?”

 

You go ahead and stand up. Being in your pajamas all day is not the impression that you want to give your neighbor. “Someone I like to think of as dead.” The book he had been writing in last night is sitting beside him. “Did you stay here all night?”

 

He shrugs, as if his answer won’t be a big deal. “Yes.” You look at him incredulously, but he just stares back. “You looked peaceful.”

 

Peaceful? Really? Well, you did seem to have slept more last night than you have in a long time. “Just please tell me that you actually slept.” Him staying up to watch you sleep is kind of creepy, but also feel bad for using him as a pillow.

 

He just shrugged, again, as if sleeping was a pleasure and not a requirement for function. “I don’t sleep very much.” He gives the answer off handedly, but you can read between the lines.

 

He probably has as many, if not more, nightmares that you do. You know how often the dreams kept you up, so they probably did the same for him. You want to ask him what he does to avoid the memories, but from what he has said, it probably has more to do with figuring out where memories fit, and if they were actually how he remembers them. Your memories are more exact, both a curse and gift. You know what you have went through to get where you are.

 

“I…I scope out the area.” Bucky must have felt the need to elaborate, because he started to tell you more. “I like knowing what my surroundings look like.”

 

You can understand that, even if your powers of observation must have decided to take a back burner last night. “You want breakfast? I’m sure there’s something in the kitchen.” Hopefully there is something besides old pie ingredients. You wait for his nod before you leave to go change and then to check out the cabinets. You might have some flour for pancakes or something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short length, but I thought you readers would like an update.
> 
> This one will probably be the last for a while. I have 3 other works that I told myself that I need to work on this month. I've actually did more on this one than I originally planned.
> 
> Enjoy, folks. I hope to hear from you all.


	11. Omelets, anyone?

In the fridge you find some eggs and some cheese. Based off of that, you can make a cheese omelet. Maybe. Hopefully. You have some flour in there, but not pancake mix. Oh, you even found the ingredients that you were going to use to make your lemon meringue pie. Maybe you’ll make it while also making breakfast. You can have dessert after breakfast, right? You mean, you have dessert with lunch and supper, so why not breakfast too? Maybe a warm pie will taste better than the cold ones did.

 

“Bucky?” You call to get his attention. “Do you like omelets?” You have all of the materials on the counter. You are ready to start making food. You have a plan of attack and actually all of the tools this time.

 

He doesn’t respond, but rather seems to have ran into the kitchen. Before you can put the skillet on the stove, he has it in his hand and if you didn’t know better, you would think a fearful expression. “I’ll cook the omelets.”

 

You go ahead and nod, even though his behavior is odd. “Okay…” Well, she goes to the lemons and works on chopping the things up. “I’ll just work on the pie, then.” You keep working on the lemons and grab a bowl to mix the crust in. You glance up to see that his face has gone slightly paler than before. “Are you okay, Bucky? You look kind of…”

 

He just gives you a reassuring smile and keeps on mixing up the eggs. “I’m okay. Is the pie for breakfast, too?” You go back to putting things together, and cutting up the lemons to put into the pie. Since the recipe didn’t say to peel them, you leave the lemon peel still on.

 

“Yep.” You are happy to be cooking in the kitchen after a good night’s rest. Really. And he’s going to love that pie. At least, you hope so. He did like the earlier pies, so hopefully he’ll like this one.

 

A warm pie always tastes better than a cold one.

 

You are separating the egg whites from the yellow when he grimaces. You accidently get a little yellow in the whites, but that shouldn’t make too big of a difference. The meringue should be fine. You know that mixing the whole egg makes an omelet thing, but just a little bit shouldn’t. Shouldn’t. You’ll see.

 

Or, well, we. There are two of you in your apartment this morning, and you sneak a look his way. For once he has his gloves off and you can see that one of his hands is metal. Your own hands are twitching to look at the tech, but you go back to putting the meringue on the pie. While you played around in robotics, you were kept for weapons making. Which meant that all of your robots had something to do with defense or offense. For, ‘A shield is only good until it meets a weapon it can no longer repel.’

 

“Done.” Bucky tells you about the omelets and you grab a couple of plates down for him to put the omelet that he just finished onto one of the plates. You scoot in before he can start on the next one and push the pie in the oven. It’s at this moment when you notice how close you are to him.

 

But you aren’t afraid. Not really. The feeling is more like anticipation for something. But for what?

 

You don’t have time to think about because he’s already reaching around you to pour the egg mixture into the hot skillet and you’re moving to the side to watch him cook. “You don’t trust my cooking?” Bucky asks you, somewhat with humor and a bit of suspicion.

 

“I trust you to fall asleep in your lap.” You try not to think too much into that. He adds some things to the eggs and lets it cook for a while as his attention turns to you. His complete attention. “I still can’t believe I did that.” You really can’t. For the first few months you slept with one hand on a knife the entire time. You weren’t really sure what you could have done with that knife, but the handle in your hand had you feel somewhat safe.

 

He seems to take it as embarrassment, but your emotions are really shock. “I told you, it’s fine. You looked peaceful.” That wasn’t the point, but you don’t correct him.

 

The other omelet is done, and he slides it onto the other plate. You grab a couple of forks out of the drawer and place one on each plate. He motions for you to lead that way, and instead of going back to the couch, you take a seat at the small table that came with the apartment. Another reason why you chose this place was because it was completely furnished. In the type of life you chose (forced into, whichever way you were thinking about it at the moment), you had to pack light, and leave no foot prints behind when you move on.

 

Suddenly you realize that you didn’t grab any drinks and stand up to race to the refrigerator. You sigh in relief at the face you actually have some orange juice. You take out the cartoon and grab a couple of the plastic throwaway cups you bought. You fill up each cup and bring them to the table with a smile.

 

You are a bit shocked to see him standing with a very big knife in hand. “Gde eto ugroza?” Russian? He speaks Russian?

 

“Yeah, no threat.” You answer him, not even bothering with changing English to Russian. While learning different languages was part of your curriculum, you are better at understanding than of speaking any of the languages. You can, but you know your strengths and weaknesses. “Just orange juice.”

 

He puts down the knife, much to your nerve’s delight. “You understand Russian?” He sits down and you follow suit.

 

You bite into the omelet on your plate. It’s not bad, and a lot better than something yourself would make. It’s not crunchy like it usually is. He probably didn’t accidently have egg shells in his. “Yes, Mr. Hammer required it to be in my curriculum.” You froze as you realize what you just said. The eggs don’t look nearly as appetizing as they did earlier.

 

His eyes are dark and staring at you, not even bothering to hide what he was doing. “Why?” You try to ignore his question by taking a drink of your juice. “Sugar? Why did he have you learn Russian?”

 

The way he was asking questions, and as though he expected to be answered immediately, caused your emotions to turn swiftly to anger. “Can I see your prosthetic?” And your anger causes you to push back, to make the other person as uncomfortable as you are.

 

It doesn’t seem to work for him, because all he does is pull his shirt over his head to toss it on the ground. You stare at his very defined form in shock, surprised that he decided on this course of action. Your eyes are drawn to where flesh is molded to metal. The type of mechanics involved in its creation… It is beautiful to your trained eye.

 

“Why?” Bucky’s voice brings you back to the person, and away from the tech attached to him. “I showed you the prosthetic, sugar. Will you answer my question?”

 

You gulp and drag all of your courage back. “He liked to outsource my services.” You feel the shaking start again, but push it down. Now is not the time to be dragged into memories.

 

You should expect the next question, but still it throws you off guard. “Services?”

 

“Mostly weapon designing.” You put your hands around the plastic cup, needing something concrete to hold onto. “I helped fix certain classified materials and worked on making them tougher, usually.” You nod at the arm, your mind already dragging up plans, numbers, and materials. “One of them was an arm similar to what you have. The group he was working with had me fix pieces that had been broken during a simulation.” You drink the rest of the orange juice, not even seeing the narrowing of his eyes. “Mostly, I was kept in the lab to create designs for his company. Not that he didn’t cut corners.”

 

“He kept you locked up?” Bucky asks, and you look up with a smile to his icy expression. It was like he was analyzing something in his mind that wouldn’t quite match up, and didn’t want you to know.

 

“Constant surveillance, remember?” You try to throw off your past, and take another bite to signal to him that you would prefer to move on from this conversation. “I didn’t leave my rooms, or my lab, unless he or one of his people were my guide. I didn’t even know what state, or country, we were in half the time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pie is being baked in the background!
> 
> Sorry for taking so long. Working on about... ten? eleven? stories at one time at the moment. Maybe not my smartest idea, but the ideas are there! I'm trying to work as fast as I can before my muse decides to leave me again.


	12. End of the Shift...

Luckily for you, you remembered to take the pie out of the oven right after Bucky left to go back to his apartment. Also luckily for you, he left in time for you to get ready for your shift. Another late night, and you try not to think too much of what happened the last time.

 

And how badly it could have gone.

 

Instead of having a couple of cops with their eyes on you, you could have been severely injured or worse. You try not to think of the possibilities, but they were still there. You had been terrified of more than just Hammer when you had escaped. For a long time, you had also been terrified of the world around you. And for good reason.

 

Most people could call for help, but you couldn’t. Any call for help from you could easily send up a flag for him to follow. And so, you were completely on your own. You couldn’t call the cops if someone broke in. You couldn’t go to anyone in authority, because you weren’t certain who was in whose pocket. It still is the case, now, but you also know that not all people are bad. You’ve met some nice people on the outside, and you know that you don’t need Hammer and his people to keep you safe from the masses.

 

It took you a while to realize it, but you are stronger than you thought you were.

 

Which leads back to your walk back to work for another shift that would leave you walking the streets alone in the dark.

 

Maybe not so much as alone, but with unsavory individuals.

 

You finish up the night, glad that this time there were only pinches and no ice diving. You smile and wave at your boss before you leave to walk back home. You take the same route back as you did last time, still not completely sure of this city to take an alternate route.

 

You know the dangers of this route, and you know that it is mostly lit up. And, since the three men were stopped last time by those two cops, they wouldn’t think to try it again. Right?

 

You hear the footsteps coming your way, again, and the fear comes back tenfold. This time it freezes you when they drag you into the alleyway. You don’t even focus on their words, or the different weapons each one of them is carrying. You can barely focus on yourself, and your own internal screaming.

 

Until suddenly you aren’t. The haze that you surrounded yourself in fades back, and you are in the here and now. It was the same guys as before, and you know you can’t fight them off. But it doesn’t mean you have to turn over and play dead. That was what Pepper woke in you two years ago with an offhand comment. She reminded you that you were still alive.

 

You hit one in the face before you have time to overthink your actions. He pulls back in shock that the meek mouse is actually fighting back. It’s the blonde.

 

Before he can retaliate, a metal hand is pulling him back and throwing him towards the other wall. A black mask obscures the lower half of your rescuers face as he systematically takes out the three other men. His black hair is long, and his left arm reflects the light in random bursts as he moves in a deadly dance.

 

It’s only a few seconds, but to you it feels like a lifetime before the new person finishes his rampage by destroying the weapons with a single clench of his metal hand.

 

Metal hand.

 

Who do you know has a metal hand?

 

Two people jump to mind. You’ve ran across two.

 

The first one when you were fourteen and sent to explain a freeze-way, heat honing, small rocket blaster. The man, Dr. Doom, hired Mr. Hammer to create a weapon to take out one of his enemies that had certain specifications. You designed it, and had the prototype built, but the finish product had been something Mr. Hammer had created based off of it. A cheaper product is what the doctor got, but you still had to explain to him how to use it. Mr. Hammer had trouble following the basics, even though he held your leash.

 

The second one was your neighbor Bucky. But his was a prosthetic, and shouldn’t have the strength behind it to be able to do that.

 

He must have found you… You push yourself back, even if other pieces of information don’t quite add up. The doctor was lankier than the person coming toward you, and his hair was a lot shorter. Usually he didn’t go for doing his own dirty work, unless it was one of the four people he swore revenge on.

 

Still, the only person with the strength to do that was Doom, or maybe one of his robots.

 

You make yourself as small as possible as the person comes towards you. Hopefully it’s a person. A person can be changed, but a robot will remain with its objective till the end.

 

He bends down, and you are almost positive the person is a person. The flesh hand reaches up and pulls the mask down to reveal a face that you’ve gotten to know pretty well lately.

 

“B…Bucky?” You stutter out his name, your gaze going to the three men behind him. You’re going through scenarios, and almost all of them lead back to an impossibility. No, Bucky couldn’t have been hired by him. No. No. No.

 

He’s crouched as though to your height and had his flesh hand stretched out to you, the mask beside him on the ground. “Come on, sugar. You need to breathe.”

 

It’s fear, pure unadulterated fear that has you jerk away from his touch. “Please, don’t.” You are begging, but you can’t bring yourself to care at this point. You can’t go back, especially by Bucky’s hand. He’s the first person that you’ve started to trust. He can’t be just a retriever for your old boss. He can’t be. “I can’t go back. I can’t…” Your brain is shutting itself back off, dragging you even deeper into the haze that you had been fighting since you went back to your work shift.

 

You don’t feel his arms wrapping around you, or him lifting you up to be carried. Instead of taking the roads, he carries you up to the roof. Using this access point, he takes the back ways and high up paths back to the building where both of your apartments are at.

 

He crawls into his apartment through a window, and lays you down on the bed that came with the apartment.

 

You don’t know any of this, but you’ll figure it out once you wake up.

 

You’ll notice the weapons that are lining the place, and the pictures hung on one wall. Pictures that Bucky thought looked familiar, but he hadn’t been able to quite place.

 

You’ll know all of this soon enough, but not right now. Right now, your mind is fighting with itself about which information is the right one. If the fears your mind keeps bringing up are the truth, or is it the hope/trust that won’t die in your heart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! Yeah, I know. My action scenes suck.
> 
> I hope to hear your opinions soon!


	13. Following Your Heart

You slowly wake up in increments, with each sense taking note of different things. The first thing you notice is the sheets under your hands. You tense your fingers up and the cloth feels to be of rougher and thicker material than what you own. After touch comes the sense of smell. The air is cleaner than you remember, and colder. A breeze is blowing across your face, and you know you didn’t leave the bedroom window open.

 

Before going to sleep, you always make sure every door and window is locked in the place where you are at. An open window is not a possibility for you. You did not leave the window open.

 

The next sense to come into focus his hearing. You hear what sounds like metal gently hitting metal. Similar to how a spatula hits a pan you are cooking with. It’s more of a scratching noise than hits. Someone is cooking. Someone is here.

 

Your eyes pop open so that sight comes to the forefront. You take note that the room is similar in shape to your own. The walls are the same color, same as the ceiling and the floor to your apartment. The little touches, though, are different. Though, looking at the wall in front of you, not so little touches.

 

The wall is covered in pictures. Some of them are in color, but others are black and white. There are notes put up on certain photos. Names. Dates. There are even newspaper articles, a few have yellowed with ages. There looks to be no order to the pictures, though some are ones that you recognize from your history classes.

 

Another wall is a map of the city with different color strings and push pins in random places on it. You aren’t sure what any of it means, but you do know that your work place is marked in red. The apartment building, though, is green. The strings go from push pin to push pin, though the pushpins that connect the strings are all clear.

 

On the dresser is line of guns of various sizes and shapes. You grab one that you faintly recognize as something Hammer stole the designs of. You check to see if it’s loaded, and it is. You don’t know if you have the guts to do anything with it, though. You’ve never shot anyone before. You are a runner, not a fighter. And with Bucky? You’ll have to fight to get out.

 

Unless you take the window.

 

You look to the open window, an idea forming before you throw it away.

 

You can escape, but you know that you really can’t. Bucky has already found you in this city. This is an opportunity to run again, and most likely there will be other times. But first you need information. You need to know Bucky’s side of the story.

 

Heck, he even left weapons in here. Either he doesn’t see you as a threat, or there’s more to the story than what you know. No one leaves a prisoner with a weapon and an exit path. At least no one as smart as Bucky.

 

You place the gun back down. If you are going in there, you may as well go with what you know. You know Bucky won’t hurt you. At least, your heart thinks that. Usually you follow your mind, but the last time you followed your heart has led you here. Following your heart got you to open that bathroom window and to sneak out in the middle of the gala. It helped you to escape.

 

‘Sometimes you just have to follow your heart…’ is what Pepper, Tony Stark’s date that evening, told you when she pulled you away from the men for a breather.

 

And that is what you are going to do.

 

Just one more time, you are going to follow your heart.

 

You wrap your hand around the door knob on the bedroom door and turn it. You take in a deep breath to push it on open.

 

Follow your heart…

 

You are going to trust Bucky. You are going to listen to his side of the story. You are going to push your fear to the back burner and let hope lead your actions.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to split a chapter in half. This is the first half. The next half should be up in a bit.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> A special thanks to AbraxasBelzebub, who I knew as Abraxas for a long time.  
> I think you have commented on almost every chapter I've posted on this story, so thank you.
> 
> And for all of the other commentors and kudos giving readers out there? Thank you.
> 
> Again, I can't wait to hear your opinions on this chapter and any of the upcoming ones.


	14. Misunderstandings and Lemon Pie

The door opens to reveal Bucky wearing an apron with a pan in his metal hand and a knife in the other. “Sugar?” He looks a bit surprised, but if you were willing to guess, happy.

 

But you’ve been wrong before. You followed your heart to leave the room, but it doesn’t mean that every fear you have isn’t simmering under the surface. “How…How much did he pay you?” You push the fear back and into a box with all of your emotions. A part of you thinks that being killed with that knife in Bucky’s hand is a lot better than being dragged back.

 

You know you will be punished severely for running away.

 

He seems shocked, but you hold your ground next to the door as he slowly puts down the pan and knife. “What are you talking about?” Even without the knife, you know that he himself is a weapon. He even admitted it to you but you thought it was a joke. Now you’ve seen it with your own eyes. You saw what he did to those three men.

 

“There are no coincidences.” You tell him, surrounding yourself in fake confidence. You ignore the small voice in your mind saying that he stopped those men from hurting you. You can’t let the inconsistencies get to you. Not right now. “How much did Mr. Hammer pay to have his pet returned?” You couldn’t stop the curl of your lip when called yourself ‘pet’, but that is probably how he worded it himself.

 

You see how the words hit, and you are surprised at the anger on his face. It’s the cool anger that you learned to fear during your teenage years. Fire anger usually meant a few hits, and maybe a couple of broken bones, but cool anger meant worse. Cool anger means that they’re thinking through their actions. That they are trying to find the most brutal way to punish you.

 

You don’t jump, and you don’t run. You have been trained better than that. You know that running by this point is futile. The jumping will just fuel the anger and need to dominant. Jumping shows your fear, and turns you into prey for the predator to hunt.

 

You know this, but you are still startled when his hands, one metal and one flesh, are placed on your upper arms. “Sugar, listen to me.” You focus on his voice, but you aren’t quite sure if you should listen.

 

Should you listen? Should you believe what he has to say? You force your eyes to meet his and you can barely fight back the tears. “No lies, please.” You are begging again, but again you cannot help it with him. “I can take…” You break off into tears and you are pulled into his chest.

 

“Sugar…” Bucky is holding you, letting you cry on his clean shirt. You know it’s clean because it doesn’t completely smell like him yet. “No one hired me.” He’s tense under you, but you barely notice. “It is just a coincidence. Or maybe fate. I don’t know. But no one sent me.”

 

Logically, you shouldn’t believe him, but you do. You do because of the inconsistencies. If he had really been hired, would he have brought you back to Hammer during the times you were asleep in his presence? Why didn’t he take you from the alleyway instead of bringing you back to his apartment?

 

Inconsistencies that you can’t let yourself ignore in the face of what Bucky was telling you. “Truth?” You ask him, knowing that even if he is lying he would lie again. But you need to hear it one more time.

 

Bucky smiles at you, and it’s a real smile on his face. His eyes are lighting up, and his laugh lines around his eyes crinkling up. “Yeah, sugar. I’m telling the truth.” You believe him. You trust him.

 

You pull back from him and wipe the tears from your face. “You probably think I’m crazy.” You force a laugh as you wipe the tears from your eyes. “You come out of your way to…” A thought crosses your mind, and it brings everything to stop. “How did you know where I was?”

 

Having questions pointed his way seems to make Bucky uncomfortable, but you need to know the answer. “I may have been following you.” He scratches the back of his neck but his grin is all ‘good-old-boy’.

 

“Following me?” You ask, but the fear is mostly gone from your voice. It is mostly gone from your thoughts as well. The person in front of you is Bucky. You know Bucky. You trust Bucky.

 

Even if following you is odd behavior.

 

“Yeah.” He still has the good boy look down pat. “I wanted to make sure you were safe.” A northern accent is in voice…Brooklyn, maybe? But it’s just a part of who he is. You’ve learned that certain parts of his accent becomes more pronounced depending on his feelings.

 

To keep you safe…. You feel a warmth grow in your chest, but you try not to analyze it. “Would you like some lemon pie? You left before we could eat it this morning.” You catch yourself reaching out for his flesh hand to weave into your own.

 

Your smile is earnest, but the Brooklyn-like accent is gone from his voice when he says, “Sure. Lead the way.”

 

You do lead the way, with vow that you are going to get more information from him before he finishes his piece of lemon pie.

 

Namely, more about his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day!  
> Okay, I may be done on this one for a bit.
> 
> Doesn't mean I'm not going to be writing more. Just means I won't be posting two in the same day for a while. lol
> 
> Enjoy, my dear readers.


	15. Eating Pies and Telling Stories

You lead the way to your apartment and while you grab the pie from where you put it in the refrigerator a few hours ago, Bucky takes over one of the chairs at your kitchen table where the two of you ate breakfast at. It seems a bit like a lifetime has passed since your breakfast.

 

You hand him the knife, though, knowing that he’ll cut the pieces about evenly. It will also free up your hands for wringing or fiddling when you get up the nerve to start asking the questions going through your mind. “Where did you grow up?”

 

He pauses for a moment, but so quickly does he move on that you barely catch it. You are focused now. You will be able to see his little tales. At least you hope you’ll be able to. “Brooklyn.” He lifts one piece and puts it on a plate. He gently pushed it towards you.

 

You grab one of the spoons your brought before taking a bite. You barely refrain from gagging. You forgot sugar. Or at least you definitely didn’t put enough in it. You force smile when he gives you a concerned look, and you swallow the bite down. “You grew up with Stevie?”

 

Your plan is to ask him questions whenever he is mostly distracted. Hopefully it’ll work. “Yes.” Though you really wish he would give more than one word answers. He has himself his own piece and already taking a bite of it.

 

Ugh, you have no idea how he’s able to eat this thing. Apparently you have a short attention span because you take another bite. Nope, still as bitter. “What happened to him?” You try to swallow the bite in your mouth without having to chew too much on it.

 

“He’s around.” Bucky’s voice lacked any type of inflection, so maybe he didn’t like the pie nearly as much as how he seemed. At least, you can’t see how he could like it.

 

You nod, thinking over that. “How about after you got out? Have you thought about contacting him?” You force another bite. It would be rude to throw this one away while he seemed to like it so much. Maybe you can, once again, give him the leftovers?

 

He suddenly jabbed the spoon hard into the plate, breaking it. You fight the urge to run and hide, and keep yourself still. “They sent me to kill him. I didn’t…I couldn’t remember him.” Fury. That was the way to describe him. Furious at his memory. “I only stopped after I was hit in the head.”

 

Your hand may be slightly shaking, but you still reach out for him. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.” You really didn’t, but you should have known that that was a possibility. Even your own memories are peppered with both good and bad. Sometimes even a good memory could be a bad one.

 

“The machine wiped memories.” Bucky wasn’t really there, but lock in some memory. “But also implanted them.” He finally focused back on you, as though realizing that you had been there the entire time. “Nice pie.” Even you can tell that was a very bad way to distract.

 

You can either take the escape route he offered, or you can go straight into the beast. “My parents hate me, and so does my brother.” An honest story deserves something in return. Anyway, he just complimented the pie that you know is disgusting.

 

“What?” He looks completely confused, probably trying to figure out why you would come out with something like that. He does have a point, but it connected in a way.

 

You start fiddling with the pen you picked up from work. You take it apart and start putting it back together in a way a lot different than how it came apart. “He had me start earning my keep when I was ten.” You flip the pen around and bend a metal piece into some kind of angle. “I turned twelve and I begged to go see my mom.” You move yet another piece, giving it more potential energy that it otherwise would have had. “I corrected my father and my brother smacked me across the face.” The pen finally looked finished. At least for now. “They sent me back to him, and told him that they never wanted to see me again.” You hold up the pen, turning it so he can see what you have created. “They called me a monster.”

 

With a flick of a finger, the ink cartridge shot out and implanted itself in the wall next to Bucky’s head. He looks at you a bit wide eyed. “You made a weapon out of a pen?” He nods to the thing in your hand, a simple creation that could easily imbed itself into a man’s eye.

 

Your smile is sad, and you nod at him. “Yeah. I’m just telling you that, because I kind of get doing things you regret and having the people that used to love you turn away because they don’t understand what you had to do to survive.” You hand the pen to him, focusing back on whatever is left of your lemon pie.

 

“I couldn’t stay with him.” Bucky answers, picking up the pieces of the plate to throw it away. “Hydra still had pieces of me. Ways to control me. I couldn’t take the chance. I had to find who I am, without him pushing memories at me.”

 

He throws his plate away, and you pass him your own. You only ate half of it, so he may as well have the rest. “Do they now?”

 

It takes a few moments, but his look is resolute. “No. I’m not their weapon anymore. I’m Bucky, a man from Brooklyn who fought for his country. A man who is more than what they tortured me into being.” You grab a piece and start eating the meringue on top of it. That didn’t taste that bad. “And I’m the one that’s going to teach you how to defend yourself.”

 

“What?” You pause in spooning the meringue to your mouth in shock. You did not hear what he just said. Nope. Nada.

 

Bucky’s look was pure good old boy from Brooklyn. “I am going to teach you how to defend yourself. Your technique needs a lot of work.”

 

You purse your lips in annoyance. “Really?” Your tone should be giving him a warning, but he probably wasn’t going to listen to it.

 

“Yes.” He’s smiling at you, and that pie would look really good on his face. “It’s time we both stop running, don’t you think?”

 

Yeah, that pie would definitely look good covering his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! I know it has been a while for this fic. I was busy writing a 20 chapter fic called Mr. and Mrs. Barton this past week and I've been kind of beat in the writing department.
> 
> I'm going to be working on this one while also working on Excalibur. Just in case if you notice that the chapter postings are a bit slower than usual.
> 
> Enjoy, folks!
> 
> Just remember, I love hearing from my readers!


	16. Training Sucks

You hate Bucky. At least your body hates Bucky. He’s an exercise manic, trying to get you to learn different fighting styles in a very short time frame. Your body is not use to going through this type of abuse. Not really. Your body is more used to running, not in fighting back against an opponent so much larger than yourself.

 

After telling you that he was going to start training you, he left for the door next to your own and you went to your own bed. Shockingly, you didn’t have any nightmares last night. Shocking, cause usually an exciting day likes to have your mind bring those memories back into play. Instead, your dreams consisted of dark eyes filled with shadows and gentle hands, one metal and one flesh.

 

Yeah, Bucky was a major part of your dreams. You may find him attractive. Maybe. You aren’t sure if you’re really ready to admit that to anyone, even yourself.

 

What is shocking to you is a knocking on your door before you could see the sun through your window. You get to door, a sudden wakefulness brought on by adrenaline flooding your veins. You go up to the door, and peek through the…well, peek hole. Standing right in front of your door is Bucky, holding a brown paper bag and what looks like a cup of coffee.

 

Grudgingly, you throw the door open. You stand in the doorway, hands on your hips in annoyance. “Do you know what time it is?” It is way too early to be looking as chipper as he looks.

 

Even if he isn’t smiling, something tells you that he finds your appearance somehow amusing to him. Somehow. You don’t see it. It’s too early.

 

He’s holding the coffee cup out, as if a peace offering to a ferocious beast. You’re feeling a bit beastly at the moment. “Coffee?” Humor is still in his eyes. This is not the way to start any morning. Nope.

 

You take the cup from him, still glaring as the smell fills the air and your hands start to soak in the warmth. “Why are you here?” You are still glaring, but just a bit less so. The coffee does smell good, and humor is a good look on Bucky.

 

 _Everything looks good on him._ You shake your head, ridding yourself of that thought and pull the door farther so that he can come in around you. You are blaming lack of sleep. Yep. That’s totally the reason why you are randomly thinking of him like that.

 

“Time to start training.” He sits down at the table, and pulls out a couple of pastries from the paper bag. “Is that what you’re wearing?” Now he’s smiling, but he’s looking you up and down with a smile that can only be described as lascivious.

 

You look down at yourself, and just look back up at him in annoyance. So what that you are wearing your night clothes. You just woke up! Cheese and crackers. “What should I wear, then?”

 

He smirks and nods towards your room. “Something comfortable.” It is way too early for this crap.

 

You find a t-shirt and a pair of leggings. That looks comfortable enough for you. Hopefully he’ll quickly learn that you are not a fighter. You have never been a fighter. NEVER. Too bad nobody ever seems to listen to you about that.

 

You glance at yourself in the mirror and shrug. You look good enough for this early morning. Not nearly as good as Bucky, but meh. He’s him. You go back into the kitchen and snag one of those pastries. “I’m not a fighter.” You tell him between bites. It tastes good.

 

He passes back your coffee and you drink it down. “If Stevie can learn to fight, so can you.” He seems so…smug about it. As if he has everything figured out.

 

Ha! He hasn’t seen how uncoordinated you can be at times. “I’m not Stevie.” It sounds a bit like you are pouting, and you probably are. It is still too early for this crap. Nope. Not going to happen.

 

He motions for you to follow him, and you actually do that. You follow him out in the hall and down to his apartment. This is not what you want to do at…you don’t even know what time it is. You just know you would prefer to be in bed right now. Not following him into his apartment that has…

 

Has everything moved back so that the carpeted area is empty and ready for him to teach you.

 

You sigh even as you go ahead and put down your keys. You notice that he’s already ready to do something by the time you come back. Something, as in you think he looks kind of ridiculous standing there in the empty room as though waiting for you. You are not a fighter.

 

You go over to stand in front of him, shoulders slump and displeasure clearly on your face. This is ridiculous. No amount of him teaching you basic self-defense is going to make you able to fight back. Your nature is to run, not to fight back. By now, you should know.

 

Suddenly your back is pressed against his chest and you have no idea how he moved to quickly for you to be in the position. Before you have time to freak, his head is bent to that his breath is in your ear. “Now think. How can you get out of this?” His arm is around your throat, similar to how the men in the alley did to you. So he really had been watching.

 

You don’t know. You can’t think. Arm. Memories.

 

Puzzle pieces.

 

You think through the problem like that of a puzzle. Look for the pieces that aren’t matching completely. Find the weak points in the armor and exploit them. That is how a weapon works. Where are the weak points? Where are the places that you can exploit?

 

He doesn’t have a hold of your arms. His other arms is wrapped around your waist, but not holding your arms down. Also, your feet are free as well. You jab him with an elbow. “Good.” He tells you in your ear. “Harder. I’m not going to break, sugar.”

 

Similar words in a very different lifetime, fuel a type of rage that you didn’t even know that you could feel. Things come into perfect focus and you hit him with your elbows hard enough for him to let out a burst of breath. He must think that your hit is hard enough, because he lets go.

 

But to you it isn’t enough. You turn around and try to hit him in the face. Instead of hitting, he catches your hand before it can land. “Aim lower next time.”

 

“What?” You are confused at what he’s talking about, but he seems to be slightly impressed. Maybe. Possibly. You are still a bit too asleep at this time.

 

He looks a bit sheepish right now, as though he wants to tell you something that seems to make him slightly embarrassed. “Next time, if someone grabs you like that hit him, uh, below the belt.”

 

Too early for this. Way too early. “Below the belt?”

 

“Yes.” Bucky, Brooklyn-Bucky that you are starting to find downright adorable, is still a bit sheepish. “He’ll go down and give you time to run.”

 

Your smile is large, and a bit hopeful that he’ll drop whatever idea he has in training.

 

“Now, the next move…”

 

You sigh as he tells you what he will be teaching you today.

 

Which is why, when you finally get back to your apartment that night, you are cursing Bucky and his insane belief that he can train you into being a weapon.

 

You aren’t a weapon. You are a weapon designer. There’s a difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! Here's yet another chapter. A bit slow, but they had bonding time! Sort of. Mostly I just felt like complaining about health nuts lately.
> 
> I guess I'm going a bit slow because I'm getting kind of close to the "ending" that I had in mind a few chapters ago. I think there's at least two more chapters, and I'm fiddling with an idea to extend a bit on it. I like putting endings off for as long as possible.
> 
> Like usual, I do love feedback. I hope to hear from you readers soon!


	17. Nightmares and Cuddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There may be a trigger in here thanks to the type of nightmare the Reader is having.

Too much excitement (aka training) sends your brain into hyper-drive. Instead of coming up with ideas, your brain comes up with memories. Memories of times when someone wasn’t trying to gently lead you into fighting back, but more of something involving dominance and pain. The worst part? The dream didn’t start out as a nightmare, but quickly turned into one.

 

At first, you are sitting in a meadow having a picnic with Bucky. The two of you were surrounded by wild flowers and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. You were enjoying each other’s company, and he was laughing at something that you said. Then, suddenly, he wasn’t laughing anymore and you weren’t in the meadow.

 

Instead you were in the room that you had been brought to when you were ten and told that you had to earn your keep. Bucky’s face was twisted into what looked like a snarl and he was grabbing you. Forcing you down, but with Hammer’s voice in your ear.

 

“Everything has a price, pet.”

 

You aren’t thinking in the dream. You are remembering but with a twist. It’s Bucky not letting you up, not letting you go even as you beg for him to stop. For everything to stop. One moment it is Hammer on top of you. The next? Bucky.

 

Your mind twists the memory in a way to deal with. In a way to remind yourself at how small you were then. At how small you still feel inside even after these past two years of freedom. A way to remind you that no matter what Bucky teaches you, you will always be defenseless. You will always be the scared, weak little girl that was so easily used.

 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

 

His voice is something that you remember. Oh, God, if there is a God, why do you have to remember so many things? Why couldn’t you have forgotten this? Why won’t the past just let you be? Just let you move on? Why won’t it??

 

It didn’t feel good. It hurt. You are crying in your dream just as you cried then. You cried for someone to come. For someone to actually save you from this dream turn nightmare.

 

But no one ever did.

 

Night after night for a month he kept coming to you. Kept telling you to earn your keep during his free time. It didn’t matter that he already made thousands off of your designs. He still required you to give more.

 

Because you were nothing but his pet.

 

Nothing but a poor kid that he could do whatever he wanted to with because your parents just saw the dollar signs and opportunities that they could never afford for you.

 

So they sold you instead.

 

They sold you to him, for him to do whatever he wanted to. Similar to that of someone selling their dog’s pups to whoever could afford it. You never could tell what kind of homes that the babies went to, but you hoped for the best. Even if you still got to see them from time to time.

 

Your memory of screaming pulls over into now, because you wake up with your throat sore and a knife pulled out towards the shadows. You scurry over into the corner as a way to be small as you notice the shadow at your window. You have to run. You have to hide. You have to fight.

 

You don’t know what you have to do.

 

The window bursts in, and you whimper as glass shards land in the carpet. A large figure came in with the glass and is standing over top your bed. A gun, a large one, is in the person’s hands. He looks over the bed, and his voice is barely over that of a whisper, “Sugar?”

 

You are already leaping into him. Holding onto a body that you know wouldn’t hurt you. At least not intentionally. Bucky was the first person that you knew you could trust. He’s holding you close, but he’s like a statue or a bodyguard watching over the area.

 

“Kto napal na vas?” Bucky asks, his voice soft as though to not be heard by anyone nearby. He’s keeping you near the window, as though ready to take the both of you out through the exit he knows is secure.

 

It takes your mind but a moment to translate his words. He just asked you who had attacked. No one did. “Nikto. Plokhoy son.” You tell him that it was just a bad dream, and it’s like whatever personality he was surrounding himself just faded away.

 

He puts the gun down beside him before hold you close. “You’re shaking, sugar. You need to calm down.” He must just now notice the glass, and your bare feet before he lifts you slightly so you won’t accidently cut yourself on the glass. He sits you on the bed, but because you are doing your best impression of a limpet, he has to sit on it with you. “I heard you scream.”

 

“Just a dream.” You keep holding on, not wanting to be alone again. Not alone with your memories that won’t stay buried. “Just a dream, Bucky. And I’m not shaking.” Even though you clearly are.

 

You feel him shake his head, as though remembering someone just as stubborn as yourself. “You are, sugar.” He’s taken to rubbing circles on your back and arms in a distracted manner. “Never thought I’d meet someone as stubborn as Stevie.”

 

You chuckle at that, and the shaking is nearly gone. “I prefer headstrong. It sounds nicer.” The memory is nearly back in the box that you shoved it into so many years ago. You can’t work if you are always afraid of what happened, or will. And not working wasn’t an option then. Work was a great distraction then, and it also kept him from coming.

 

“Then headstrong it is.” His voice is soft, and pure Brooklyn. None of the Russian accent is left in his voice and you really would like to know the trick he has at being able to completely switch. Or maybe not. “I’ll come by in the morning to fix the window.”

 

He’s going? No, you don’t want him to. “Stay?” You ask him again, just like you have done before. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” You aren’t going to make anyone do anything that they don’t want to. No.

 

It takes a moment before you barely make out his answer, “I want to.” It sounds like a confession to you, but you aren’t about to look too closely at this gift.

 

You’ll fix him some breakfast in the morning. Yes. That will work.

 

You let go of him so that you can get further on the bed, pulling Bucky with you. You don’t even give him time to suggest sleeping on the couch because you are curled around him. Your arms are curled around his metal one and your legs are curled around the closest leg.

 

There you fall asleep, feeling safe in his arms.

 

You are already gently snoring when Bucky’s eyes eventually close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you readers enjoyed it! I remember saying earlier that you having nightmares would come into play. I forgot about that little idea until yesterday!  
> Hopefully it didn't seem like too much of a repeat from earlier, but dealing with PTSD is an ongoing process. Kind of similar to dealing with any kind of mental disorder or addiction. One day something will be fine. The next? As though you've gone back a dozen or so steps.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! I do love feedback, you know. ;)


	18. Breakfast and Endearments

You wake up with your legs wrapped around something and your arm trapped by something else. It takes a few seconds for you to realize your hand is trapped by some type of cloth. Sometime during the night you had put your hand up his shirt so that it rested against his bare chest. The realization has you slightly blush, but his steady breathing tells you that he’s still asleep.

 

You quietly pull your hand down and out, trying not to be embarrassed at how your body sought comfort while asleep. It was your subconscious telling you that you trust him, or at least that you want comfort. It is true what your hidden mind was working through. You did trust him.

 

Even if certain pieces tell you that you should look deeper, but you are letting that voice go unheard. It sounded too much like repressed fear than anything else.

 

His breathing slightly changes and you freeze until his breathing settles back down. You go ahead and move on out, hoping not to wake him up. He looks adorable laying there, as though without a care in the world. Sleep really does take the stress out of people. At least it seems to have taken whatever stress that you didn’t notice before away from Bucky’s face.

 

But staring at his sleeping face was for a different time. Now, though, you can go and start breakfast for the two of you.

 

You sneak on out, happy that you haven’t woken him up and that you can have a chance to surprise him with food.

 

You find a pan and look in the refrigerator for something that would constitute as breakfast food. You are a bit surprised at the bacon you find in there, but shrug. It doesn’t look to be in too bad shape. A quick shuffle of the drawers and you find some canned biscuits. Eggs for the meringue that you’ve learn to love during your pie making excursions would work just as being fried. So, a bacon, egg, and…yes, there is cheese, biscuit sandwich would be good.

 

You start the food, almost done when there is a crashing and Bucky is standing in a doorway with a gun pointed at your head. “Egg?” You ask him, a bit of fear creeping into your voice at the very deadly weapon he was holding in his hand.

 

He’s confused, but nods. You expect him to say something, anything, about last night, but he doesn’t say anything. He just lays the hand gun down and moves into your space. His metal hand wraps about the hot skillet and he motions you back.

 

You do stand back, hands quickly finding a place on your hips. “I still think you don’t trust my cooking.” He looks very…domestic there. Even though you were doing fine on your own. “I only set the kitchen on fire once.”

 

He seems to freeze at that, but doesn’t respond. Only once isn’t that bad. It’s not as though you burnt down the entire building. He’s still cooking the food, and you don’t even want to know where he learned how to do that. Cooking wasn’t exactly something Mr. Hammer thought you needed to learn.

 

“There wasn’t a lot of food to go around when I was a kid.” Bucky starts talking, a seemingly non-sequitur comment to your response of setting fire to a kitchen. “We learned not to waste what we had.” He went ahead and flipped the eggs on over.

 

Was he saying that you would waste food if you cooked? Your eyes narrow slightly and you glare at his back. “Come again?” Anger…well, you will say annoyance is obvious in the terseness in your tone.

 

He smiles over his shoulder. “Just remembering something, sugar.” You don’t believe him, and he seems to get that because he turns back to the food. “Sleep well?”

 

“Asks the man who slept half the morning away.” You grumble as you invade his space to pull out the biscuits from the oven. He’s tense next to you, but you don’t care. The arrogant, self-righteous…

 

He breaks you from your mental tirade by clearing his throat. “Mind warning me next time, sweetheart?” You look up to see that nearly ran into the hot pan. In his metal hand, it wouldn’t burn him. But if it had hit your flesh? Yeah, you would have had a nasty burn.

 

The anger mostly leaves at that. His quick reflexes have come in handy again. “Thanks, for, you know.” You haphazardly wave with your gloved hand that is also holding the biscuit pan. His eyes are widened a bit comically at how close the pan came to his face with your wave.

 

You go ahead and start putting together the plates, ignoring him except to put the food together. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” He eventually says as you both are sitting down.

 

“No biggy.” You shrug, and finish the biscuit that you were eating on. “You’re right, I am wasteful.” You poke at the rest of your food, pushing back memories that you’d prefer to not remember. You had been doing so well, but the memories? They didn’t want to stay back right now.

 

A hand stopping you from pulling at the bread has you look up into Bucky’s face. “Don’t do that.” His jaw is tense and his face is oddly focused.

 

But you don’t understand what he’s talking about. “What?”

 

“Hide behind obedience.” His eyes are completely focused on your own. “You have fire in you. Don’t…don’t try to hide it.”

 

You nod, and silently swear when you see what time it is. “I gotta go.” You pull your hand back; the conversation already being pushed into the back of your mind. “I’m going to be late.”

 

You ran into your room, and quickly change into your outfit. Overtop of them you throw a pair of sweats and a large shirt. You’ll throw them in the purse-bag thing that you have when you get to work. You grab the bag and race on out.

 

You run into Bucky, who quickly settles you. “Where are you going?”

 

“Work.” You twist around to grab the keys you had haphazardly thrown on the table the night before.

 

You stop as you hear Bucky say, “I’m coming with you?”

 

“What?” You don’t have time for this. Why does he want to come with you?

 

He tucks a smaller gun into a holster at his side, and throwing a jacket over top of his ensemble. You are still moving to the door when he pulls on his black gloves. “Because you get into trouble whenever I’m not around.”

 

“Ha! Don’t make me laugh.” You quickly lock the door, him at your side the entire time. “I was completely fine before you ate my pie.”

 

You miss his look of shock and lust he’s giving you as you start on the run down the stairs. “I wasn’t…” He voices to himself out loud before coming down the stairs after you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is SO not what I wanted to write. Nope. Nada. Zilch. The next chapter is what I wanted to write. But this one? This one just wanted to be written. Don't ask me why...I have no clue.  
> I started typing...and THIS is what was created. THIS thing.
> 
> I actually kind of like it. Let's see what you guys think!  
> I love feedback folks, so don't be shy!  
> Seriously, constructive criticism is great. So is just telling me "YOUR AWESOME!". You can never get enough compliments, you know.  
> ;)


	19. Personal Body Guard Bucky

Bucky passes you on the run down the steps and you have no clue how he is so fast when you had a head start. Honestly, it probably has to do with him being a psycho self-defense obsessed, gun totting, mystery man. It also might have something to do with how most of your skills dealt more with the mental.

 

You make it to the first floor and laugh at how Bucky is leaning against the wall as if he had been waiting for you for a while. “Took you long enough.”

 

You don’t consider that worthy of a response, and so you keep on going out into the street. He follows about a step or so behind. Unconsciously, you slow down so that your match his speed. “That wasn’t nice.” You finally tell him, not far from your job.

 

He shrugs, silent just like he was before. You notice that he’s checking all around you, as though waiting for there to be a sudden attack. In your world, attacks happened in darkened alleyways and other unsavory places. Most of the people coming for you wouldn’t want the world to know what they were up to. Your enemies looked like honest citizens to the rest of the world.

 

Yes, enemies. It may sound a bit like something out of a comic book, but you don’t know any other word for it. He controlled you, and by extension broke the person that you were. Or you can say that he molded you into the person that you are, considering that you grew up in that environment.

 

“Do you like plum pie?” You ask out loud to break the silence. Usually you walk alone, and don’t have this unnecessary need to fill the silence. This time, his response is a grunt. “I’m going to take that as a no…” You wrack your brain for something else, something at all to make his response be something. “I think a pecan pie would be nice.” Yep, that’s the next pie that you’re going to make. It shouldn’t be that hard.

 

He looks over at you, but still isn’t going to relax from his self-appointed guard duty. Seriously, it’s not as if a group of psycho ninjas are going to jump from the rooftops and start shooting. That only happens in movies. Or in Tony Stark’s life. Even though Stark seems to have his life as some very messed up movie lately. Who knew the billionaire would make a metal suit and come out as Iron Man?

 

You didn’t.

 

The two of you finally make the incredibly long (made even longer by how your walking partner was silent the whole time) and non-adventurous walk to work. You pause beside the doors. “Thank you for walking me.”

 

Apparently your subtlety is too subtle, because all Bucky does is open the door for you to enter ahead of him. Seriously?? You so do not want Bucky to be sitting at one of the tables while you go around serving drinks and food to the customers. Nope. That is not what you want to happen.

 

Bucky is starting to make that a habit.

 

“You don’t have to watch me at work.” You glare at him just inside of the workplace. You don’t even have to check the time to know that you are a couple of minutes early for once. Nobody is yelling at you to get moving, for one thing.

 

The mask he’s been wearing since the two of you left the apartment building cracks a bit as he smiles your way. Not a full smile, but one that means he has a bit of a hidden joke. “I have nowhere else to be.” When you don’t leave your stance, his expression is similar to the one you’ve seen on your face before rolling your eyes. “Going?”

 

You only leave because you know that you’ll be late. By the time you come back out, you notice that Bucky is sitting in your section. Of course he is. But how did he know?

 

Probably just a coincidence, even if a fleeting thought of yours had Bucky as some type of super spy.  It would have a lot of the pieces fitting into a type of picture. Even if Bucky seems to be too nice to be a spy. Though…wouldn’t a spy be nice to get close to the target?

 

Your rambling thoughts entertain and keep you from thinking about your revealing work uniform. You strip down and start your shift. You expect today to be similar to your work shift from last time, but it’s not.

 

Only a couple of people got handsy with you, but only a little compared to how they were the other day. It doesn’t make any sense until you look up from picking up an order and see Bucky sitting across from the guy who had decided that you just had to sit on his lap. The man may be a little drunk.

 

By the time you get back to the table, Bucky has moved back to his old spot and the man there is keeping his hands to himself. He even says thank you! Seriously? People don’t change their ways unless something happens.

 

Bucky’s too innocent expression tells you all you need to know about what that something it.

 

It’s a while before you get your break, but you go straight to his table with another look. “Stop it.” You tell him. While it is kind of sweet how he was being your knight in shining armor, it was also annoying. Scaring off the customers is not the way to go about keeping your job.

 

“Stop what?” He takes a bite of the food that he ordered earlier. He’s acting innocent, but you are wise to his tells. At least, you are wise to a few of them. The more his accent goes straight to good Brooklyn boy, the more involved he was in something.

 

You rip at the napkin you pull from the dispenser. “You know what I’m talking about, Buck. Stop scaring the customers.”

 

The smile on his face is pure teeth, and you know he isn’t going to listen to you on this. “I’m not scaring them. I am merely reminding them of their manners.”

 

Hopefully he knows that you aren’t amused by his statement, but your break is over and it is time for you to go back to waiting tables.

 

Bucky keeps on his act. The customers keep coming to your area.

 

What you don’t expect is for another waiter to come up to you after the shift that the both of you share. You are changing back into street clothes and she’s just standing there in her own outfit. “New kid, right?”

 

You nod, grabbing your bag up to leave. You’re not sure what she is going to ask, but you know that the conversation isn’t over.

 

You may be a bit socially awkward, but you are pretty good at reading people.

 

“I’m going to the theme park nearby this weekend.” The woman shrugs, as though what she is going to ask/say really doesn’t matter to her. But it does. She’s too casual. “Maybe you and your boyfriend would like to meet up and go as a group?”

 

You don’t know her story, but you can recognize fear. “Sure. I’ll ask him.” Before she can leave, you reach out to her. “Wait. Why are you asking me?”

 

The woman shrugs, too bad you didn’t catch her name. “You seem nice. He seems nice. Seems like a good idea.” She hands over a card before leaving you in the back room.

 

The card has her number on it, and thankfully a name. It’s strange that someone would do something like that, but you were also the person that went next door to hand your neighbor a pie to eat. Who are you to judge what is strange?

 

She doesn’t look like a threat. Not really, but you know that appearances can definitely be deceiving.

 

You go out there to meet up with Bucky, subconsciously getting closer to him than you did earlier. You don’t tell him what your coworker asked. A part of you knows what he’ll say.

 

On the silent walk back to the building that both of you lived in, your mind plays over the conversation and is stuck on replay what the other woman told you.

 

Bucky is not your boyfriend.

 

Why didn’t you correct her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! Here's chapter 19, folks. My goal for today!
> 
> I have some more bugs to work out in the story line (mostly because I messed with it by adding the coworker..ugh).
> 
> There are two possible plot lines for the next chapters. Well, subplot lines. One involves the coworker being just a coworker...and the other? Well, she's not.
> 
> Looking forward to any feedback!!!


	20. Theme Park Rides

Something tells you that if you tell Bucky that your coworker invited you that he won’t go and would find a way to convince you to not go too. However, you really want to go. Something really makes you want to go and talk to the other person. To spend time with someone and pretend, for just a moment, that you are a normal person going on a normal trip with a coworker and your friend.

 

A piece of cake, yes?

 

Theoretically. Though, watching Bucky putting any number of weapons onto his person in places that you aren’t even sure if you can even remember. Seriously, the dude is turning into a walking arsenal with how many things he’s storing away.

 

“Um, Bucky?” You call from where you are standing in his sitting area. For once you were ready for him, but the way he keeps fidgeting tells you that he really doesn’t want to go. “You know I can go by myself, right?”

 

He suddenly pauses in holstering what you will swear is _at least_ his seventh gun. At least it is the seventh one that you’ve seen him put on him. “No.” His voice brooks no argument, and has a bit of a Russian edge to it. Uh oh…he only does that whenever he’s really upset. “It’s not safe.”

 

You go ahead and roll your eyes at him. “Large, public place.” But you did carry a few of your more unnoticeable weapons that you’ve actually been making and keeping. Electricity is awesome, by the way. It can pack a lot of punch in very small spaces, and look like normal things all of the time. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be safe.”

 

He doesn’t look convinced, and picks up a throwing star. An actual throwing star. How is this your life? Right, you gave the dude a pie. Of course everything starts with one of your pies. Your pies are awesome.

 

He’s finally ready (still fifteen minutes early, but you can’t wait to actually spend time with ‘normal’ people), finally in that he has decided to bring his entire armory with him. Still, not completely true. He still has quite a few weapons still stash around the place (you can see a few of them faintly, but you know that other people wouldn’t).

 

The two of you catch a cab, because you are definitely not going to walk the x amount of miles it would take to get there. You pay the taxi, glad that you finally got your paycheck (celebration!!!). Bucky didn’t look like he was going to get in for a few moments before following you on into the taxi. He doesn’t talk to you on the trip, and you refrain from making faces at him.

 

Barely, because one part of you wants him to have some type of reaction. Another type? Kind of afraid of what that potential reaction would be.

 

The both of you get out at the place and you are the one that pays for the ride. Without thinking, you grab his hand and pull him behind you deeper into the crowd. The two of you stand in line for what feels like forever, especially in the silence. “You know you didn’t have to come, right?” You eventually tell him after getting through the gates.

 

You don’t even want to know how he was able to get through the gates with the weapons he was carrying. You know how your own came through, because the ones you brought really do look like every day stuff. It’s part of your specialty.

 

He doesn’t answer the question. Of course he doesn’t bother answering. You are starting to think that the silent treatment is his way of showing his displeasure at the plan. He really didn’t have to come.

 

A familiar head of red hair catches your attention and you wave at the woman to get her attention. She starts walking your way when Bucky suddenly grabs your upper arm with his flesh hand. He’s always careful not to use the metal hand when touching people. At least with touching you, you haven’t seen him touching anybody else.

 

He’s pulling you away from the woman from work, and you can’t pull free from his grip. “Bucky.” You hiss out, not wanting to get unwanted attention. Even though you are catching a few glances that you are smiling away. “Bucky.” You repeat, louder this time.

 

At least loud enough to get him to respond. “Come on.” He keeps pulling you so that the two of you are away from the crowds of people flocking around. Suddenly, the woman from work drops in front of the two of you, her hands held up.

 

Bucky pulls out one of the many weapons he has while pushing you behind him. The woman holds up her hands, “Woah, James. I’m not here to fight.”

 

“Natalia.” Bucky’s voice is soft, and cold with the accent that you’ve known to associate with him when he’s just a step from becoming violent, or when he’s shutting down his emotions.

 

The woman rolls her eyes. “Natasha. I haven’t been Natalia in years.” Her hands on her hips, and looking him up and down. “You look good.”

 

Bucky is tense, but at least he lets go of your arm. Even though he’s putting himself even more in front of you. “Why are you here?” Taking your clues from Bucky, you take out one of your pens. One of your special pens. By the way, electricity is awesome.

 

“Steve is looking for you.” Natasha answers, and you think over her words. Steve as in Stevie? Bucky’s Stevie?

 

“You know where I am.” Bucky answers out, his voice staying with the Russian curl. None of the Brooklyn accent that you’ve come to look towards hearing it there. “I’m sure you have told him.”

 

She rolls her eyes, again. Apparently at the stupidity of man. “No. I just wanted to make sure you were alright, and that you know he’s still waiting for you.” She looks over to the side where you have been pushed behind but have slowly edged your way forward. “Justin Hammer’s fiancé. I’m sure you have heard the news.”

 

“I’m nothing of his.” You spit out without thinking. It doesn’t matter what the news or what he says. You cut all ties with him when you left. You never agreed to be bound to him. Never.

 

Natasha merely nods at that, before looking back at Bucky. “You know he just wants to know that you are safe.”

 

The Brooklyn is not yet back, but the Russian is nearly gone when he speaks again. “I am not the man he thinks I am.”

 

“Idiots.” She snaps out, the suddenness having you tilt the pen at yet another angle to better attack. “You, Clint, and Bruce. Can’t any of you realize that we care for you? Just you?”

 

Bucky rubs the back of his neck, and that tells you that it is safe enough to put the pen back up. “I just need some time. Tell him that?” His Brooklyn accent is poking through.

 

“Fine.” Natasha doesn’t look fine, but she nods as though giving into his request, for now. “Though I still think you need to tell him.” She holds out a hand for you to take, and ignoring the glare from Bucky, you reach out and shake it. “Nice to meet you, again.”

 

You smile and refrain from the urge to take a step back closer to Bucky. “Likewise.”

 

She gives you an obvious once over before smiling. “You are good for him.” Her smile seems to be genuine, but she looks as if she is able to broadcast whatever emotion that she wants you to see.

 

A bit like the grifter Annie Kroy that you crossed paths with not that long ago. Bucky kind of reminds you of Eliot if you think about it.

 

Natasha waves as she blends back into the crowd, and you take the freedom to turn to Bucky with a frown. “Who is she?”

 

“An old friend,” he smiles at you, and yep, you see the good-old Brooklyn boy shining through. “Want to go on some rides?”

 

He’s not going to get away with it that easily. You’ll learn more about the red head. Later, though. Right now you want to have some fun. “Sure. Any suggestions?”

 

You learn that you really dislike heights, except for the Ferris wheel. And Bucky? Well, he seems to take great pleasure in having you squeal. The jerk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: It was Natasha! Kind of makes sense, if you think about. If you know Leverage, I’m sure you caught my reference. ;)
> 
> Also, I've been out of internet for the past...I really don't know how many days. I've also started work. Ya me!
> 
> I hope you readers enjoy this long awaited chapter. :)


	21. Cops and Cooks

Two days later and he still is playing your personal body guard whenever you go to work. You have no idea what he does for a living, but you assume it is something that gives him a lot more freedom with his hours than you do yourself. Your boss is a bit of a butt regarding your schedule.

You still haven’t asked him about Natasha, but you are waiting for the right time. The perfect opportunity will come up soon enough. If not? You’ll make one.

He walks you back home tonight, and you have a plan for the two of you to do. He wasn’t going to escape like he has been able to that last couple of days. Nope. “Coming in?” You ask him, glad once more that today was an early day.

Whatever seems to have been bothering suddenly melts away and Bucky seems to just light up. He doesn’t have a smile, yet, but you can tell it would only take something small to push him into curving his lips up into one. “Still trust me?”

You roll your eyes, and hold the door open for him to follow. “I slept with you. So, yes, I trust you.” Sleeping with someone takes a lot of trust.

You think over your word choice when he does smirk, and you really want to just smack yourself in the head. Preferably with a hammer. “That we did.” He tells you with a wink, and a part of you just dies inside.

Of embarrassment? Possibly. At least that’s what you are willing to admit.

You ignore the warmth on your face which probably means you are blushing. You also ignore his smirk and the innuendo. “I was thinking we could make something. I found a recipe for pecan pie last night.” You lead the way into the kitchen, your arm just brushing against his on the way into the kitchen. You ignore the slight tingling, not quite sure what could have caused it.

Maybe his left arm has a short? Even if you brushed against his right side. Maybe just static electricity? Of the two, static electricity seems the most probable.

You throw him an apron (which he easily catches) and put one on yourself. The one you passed his way has flowers on it, which looks adorable on him (not that you would ever admit that). You start to pull the supplies onto the counter when you bump into him again. “Sorry.” You breath out, suddenly feeling as though the room is a lot smaller than you remember.

He grabs one of the larger bowls beside you, and again you are hyper aware of him brushing against you. Did this happen last time? You don’t remember and you don’t know whether to pull away or lean closer. Compromising, you don’t move. “You have the recipe?” He asks, right next to your ear.

You do not scurry to the drawer away from him. Nope, even though the silent laughter you see in his eyes tells you that he thinks you did. “Here!” You hold up the paper you copied the recipe on when you had the idea. You could have just saved it on your phone, but you have the habit of losing it (mostly on purpose, stupid GPS).

You give him a glare for good measure, which just seems to amuse him further. “You want the filling or crust?” When you stare at him blankly, he actually does smile. “For the pie?”

“Crust.” You are less likely to mess that up. Less likely. You grab the flour and start putting in the rest of the ingredient when you hear a knocking on the door. “Coming!” You yell at the door, and Bucky suddenly grabs your arm.

The playfulness (that’s what you are going to call it) is gone from him. He is back to being The Russian. “Prover'te glazok pervym.” Check the peephole first? Seriously? You aren’t a child.

“YA ne durak.” You hiss out, not even registering that you switched from English to tell him that you aren’t a fool. You know to check before opening a door. 

He nods, a gun from somewhere already at the ready in his dominant right hand. He motions for you to follow him as he gets close to the door. At the door, he silently moves to one side and you to the other one.

You look through the peephole after glancing at Bucky. You recognize the two officers from about a week ago. You are about to open the door when the younger one calls out, “It’s officers Thompson and Smith. Remember us from last week?” Thompson is the one calling through the door, if you remember their names correctly.

And you do.

You go ahead and open the door, ignoring the look Bucky is giving you. These guys could have hurt you the other night. You only open it up enough for them to be able to see you. “Yes, officers?” You tell the both of them.

Smith is the one that leads, now that you have answers the door. “We just wanted to check up on you. Is everything alright?”

Your smile is forced. “Everything is fine, Officer Smith.” The looks the two of them are giving you don’t look convinced. “Really.”

“You have, uh, something…” Thompson motions towards your face and you wipe near where he was pointing. Your hand if covered in flour.

You just sight. Why didn’t Bucky tell you that you were covered? “It’s flour.” You frown in annoyance. “I’m baking a pie. Would you like to stay and have a piece?” You feel fingers circling your wrist in a warning squeeze.

You ignore it, even as Smith shakes his head. “No thank you. Maybe some other time.” He’s already at the steps, when Thompson responds to your invitation.

“Can’t.” He actually looks a little sad about that. “Maybe we can meet up sometime when we’re both off work?” He has a piece of paper pulled out, as though waiting for you to take it.

You don’t disappoint. With your free hand, you grab the piece of paper. “Sounds good to me.” He smiles, none of the shadows that you see in Bucky’s smiles.

“It’s a date then!” He calls out as he takes off for the stairs with a wave.

Date? You didn’t…

Oh, well, you kind of did.

You shut and lock the door before looking over at Bucky whose smile was definitely gone and he was looking at the place where Officer Thompson had been standing at a moment before. “YA ne doveryayu yemu.” You don’t really trust the officer, either, if you were being honest.

“Doveriye zarabatyvayetsya.” It was something that you learned. Trust is earned. It takes time to build trust.

He nods, but the glare is still firmly in place.

Which makes you think of a few things yourself. “Do you trust me?” You trust him, but he never told you that he trusts you.

“Vy zarabatyvanii.” You nod, and really what else is there to say to that? You are earning his trust just as he’s earning yours.

A change of topic is on the order, and you already have one in mind. One that isn’t nearly as serious as this one was getting to be. “Ready to make a pie?” He nods, and going on instinct you reach out and rub the flour on your hand on his face.

You smile at his shocked expression before taking off for the kitchen. You don’t get there before he’s grabbing you around the waist to spin you out of his way.

“No fair!” But you are laughing, and the smile is definitely back on his face.


	22. Oops...

It only takes a few moments for you two to ready the pie and put it in the oven. However, there was another thing to worry about tonight, and that is food.

 

“I still think that pie would be an okay dinner.” You complain as he stirs something in the pot. You have no idea what he’s cooking, but you know it has used quite a few of the spices that you had laying around (and a few he brought over from his apartment). It smells good, whatever it is.

 

He looks at you as if that was the most ridiculous statement that you could possibly have made. “Pie is not food, sugar.” He tells you before turning back to the food in the pot. Seriously. The nerve of the man.

 

You grab a piece of one of the vegetables he cut up just a few moments ago. “You can eat it. That makes it food.” The vegetable doesn’t taste bad, but you think it’s funny to keep on this road. Pie is a type of food, but it doesn’t mean that it’s _healthy_.

 

“Sugar.” He warns when you get a bit too close to hitting the pot. You smile up at him, before stealing another vegetable. “That’s for the pot, not your mouth.”

 

You shrug, ignoring his reprimand to grab another vegetable. “What’s in the pot will soon be in my mouth.” You mumble around the carrot. “I’m just skipping a step.” He takes the vegetable you were reaching for and throws it in the pot. “At least I’m eating vegetables.”

 

“Just wait until they are cooked, sugar.” He tells you in exasperation at your latest attempts at stealing the food he was trying to cook. You can cook, and you can’t seem to quite figure out why he doesn’t trust your cooking.

 

You don’t trust it, but that’s not the point. He seems to actually enjoy eating the pies, while you force yourself to eat a single slice.

 

You sit down in the seat. “Fine.” You can work on your toys. You pull out a box to set up on the table for you to fiddle with while he goes back to the pot. Instead of physical, you are trying to fiddle with some electrical equipment. Right now, you are thinking up ways to booby trap the apartment. It would be a good way to defend the area around you.

 

Digging through the box, you find something that you forgot about making just a few nights ago while half asleep and unable to rest because of another nightmare. Seriously, you can get a lot done in a sleepless night as long as you keep on being active. You put it on.

 

The thing looks like a set of gloves, because that had been the basis of your idea. The gloves release a targeted wave that travels by way of touch. It’ll knock out a grown man for at least ten minutes after being engaged. The problem you have right now is how to engage the thing. You have the option of leaving it on, or bending your wrist at a weird angle to turn the other glove on.

 

Also, the gloves were too bulky. They need to be smooth and less likely to stick out. Right now? The gloves are way too thick. Also, they haven’t been used in a practical setting.

 

Which brings you an idea…

 

“Hey, Bucky?” You call out to him, still fiddling with the wires on a different project. He’s cooking, but surely he can help you out. “Do you mind testing out a prototype for me?” You glance up when he pauses in whatever it was that he was doing.

 

He pulls the spoon out and sets it down on the plate next to the stove. “What do you mean?” He’s cautious, but not quite to the point in having a Russian accent. Not quite, but close.

 

You focus back on the little machine in front of you. Theoretically, it’ll release a type of foam that will expand and attach itself to its surroundings. Good for trapping unwanted followers. “Knock Out Gloves. I haven’t tested them yet.” A stream of the foam accidently squirts out and you glare evilly at the tool. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

 

Bucky comes over to stand over you and the table. “You knock me out or I knock you out?” Eventually you look up to look at him.

 

You take a quick glance at the stove before looking back at him. His focus is completely on you like that of a predator hunting his prey. “Um… I knock you out?”

 

His gaze doesn’t change, “I’m cooking.” He answers, as though reminding you of the very good smelling food bubbling on the stove.

 

“Well, um,” You look everywhere but at Bucky. “Here.” You hand him the gloves, careful to keep your flesh free of the palm print on the glove. “Put the gloves on, careful not to touch palm print area.” You watch him put them on. You hold out your bare arm. “Okay, touch me.”

 

He freezes just shy of touching your arm. “Come again?” He looks confused, and a little concerned about what may happen.

 

You let out a breath, not quite sure how to explain. “I need you touch my arm. If it works correctly, I’ll pass out for ten minutes.” You forced a smile, even though he was pulling his hands back and looking at the gloves.

 

“Is there side effects?” Bucky asks, careful to not touch anything with the gloves. He’s looking at the gloves as if they would suddenly start biting him.

 

Hey! Gloves that destroy any organic material that they come in contact with. Now that would be a good weapon to have around.

 

Instead of voicing the idea, you throw the idea into a corner of your mind to deal with later on. “Possible. The reason for the test.” You smile up at him. When he still doesn’t look as if he’s going to do what you request, you reach out and grab his hands.

 

The light behind your eyelids flashes light before going dark.

 

Oops. You may have turned the gloves up too high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You want to know something sort of annoying? When one chapter somehow lengthens out into three, and goes down a path that you really didn't expect.
> 
> Interesting times indeed....
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you folks for reading. I love hearing from my readers.


	23. Wants and Desires

You start to come to in bits and pieces. You are on the ground, looking up at a face whose hair was falling forward on his face. “Sugar?” He calls for you, and it takes you longer than you expect to be able to answer.

 

Your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton when you finally get a breath to answer him, “I’m good. What happened?” Yeah…you definitely made the gloves too strong for your intended goal if you feel this groggy after being hit.

 

“You went into cardiac arrest.” Bucky tells you, and that verifies what you were thinking. Way too strong to just knock someone out. “Why didn’t you tell me the possible side effects?” Uh oh. Russian Bucky was very much back.

 

You probably should have told him, even though he would have most likely told you no. “Two possibilities that had less than 0.02 percent chance of occurring based on my mass.” You lean back and hit your head a bit too hard on the floor. “Ouch. But going into cardiac arrest was the lesser of the two possibilities. Nothing happening was supposed to be the more likely scenario.”

 

He mumbles something and pulls you into his arms. “Next time, I’m the dummy.” He mumbles and you take the moment to enjoy being in his arms.

 

Something smells really good. “I thought you were the dummy.” You smile, still trying to figure out where that smell is coming from. Food. Kitchen. “Is dinner done?”

 

He actually chuckles at that, still staying in the position that he had pulled you into. “I tell you that you had a heart attack and you’re worried about food?” You nod at that, and snuggle closer.

 

“It was a possibility.” You mumble into his shoulder. “You cooking food? Not factored in.” He also had taken off the gloves sometimes between you nearly dying and coming back to. Which is a very good piece of information considering how it works. “I have to turn down the gloves, though. I don’t want to kill someone, just knock them out.”

 

He’s silent, as though thinking over his words carefully. “Would there be a way to influence the hit from the gloves? So you still have the strongest power at play if you need it?” Was he seriously implying that you carrying around something that could potentially kill someone?

 

Okay, so your other toys could easily kill other people, but that’s not the point. This one was just to knock someone out.

 

He does have a point, though… Different masses take different hits to reach the same effect. So, potentially, having the full power would be needed to take down someone of high resistance. “Bucky?” You pull back, so that you can see his face. “Why do you think I’ll need something that could stop someone’s heart?”

 

“Super Soldiers.” Bucky answers, his voice just a bit out of it to tell you that he’s not completely there and merely one step away from becoming more one side of him than the other. “It takes more to take them out.”

 

You nod, even if what he’s saying doesn’t make too much sense. “High resistance. I still don’t want to kill anyone, Bucky.” Not again… You don’t want to have any more blood on your hands.

 

Sometimes an employer would need to have an alibi for what they wanted. Your weapons didn’t always need to be pulled in the room to take out the target. Long range assassinations, at least that’s what Mr. Hammer would tell you if you made a peep about telling anyone. Not that you did that very often the older you got.

 

You learned that it didn’t matter how hard you fought, he would still take what he wanted out of you. At about the point in your life that he was using you for that, you didn’t care. What you were doing was just a job, and a way to keep you from the chains. The cuffs with needles hurt the worst when he put them on. Any twist would rip and could leave you with permanent damage in your wrists.

 

Luckily for you, he didn’t pull those out very often. Or at all after the doctor that came to patch you up warned him of the possible effects. Afterwards, he would use them on prostitutes that he happened to have.

 

Not that you know for sure what happened to them after he played with them. Usually they just weren’t seen again.

 

“You don’t have to.” He gently rubs his fingers over your wrist as he looks to be in even deeper thought. “But you need to be able to protect yourself. Sugar, I don’t want you hurt.” He’s not looking at you, but the parts of his face that you are able to see show a man who is trying to hold in a fear that he didn’t even know that he had.

 

You reach out, carefully broadcasting your movements so that he can had time to tell you to stop. “Bucky, I want you to be happy.” You place your fingers on his face and barely put pressure to turn him to you. Going on instinct, you lean forward to place a kiss on his cheek. You lean back, and you look anywhere but at his shocked expression. “So…you still feeding me?”

 

It’s not quite a chuckle, but you know that if he was anyone else he would. “Of course, sugar. You need to keep your strength up for training.” He’s already standing, and pulling you to your feet when his words completely click.

 

Training? Really? You thought he would be over that.

 

Anyway, your mind is fiddling around with other thoughts that you would need your strength for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another one of those chapters that I didn't expect to actually write... But you know how a story, once started, has a habit of coming to life on it's own.
> 
> More fluff. Yay! Information, should, be coming up soon.
> 
> Should, because technically they should have came a couple of chapters ago. I seem to really like fluff lately. Yippee.


	24. The Long Morrow... In the Twilight Zone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Long Morrow really is an episode of The Twilight Zone. Check it out. I really enjoyed that episode.

“What is this?” You ask between bites. The food is delicious, whatever it is called. This may be some of the best food that you’ve ever ate. Maybe. Though the first meal you had after being free may have been better. Maybe.

 

Bucky finishes his food and you are nearly done when he finally answers. “Everything Stew.” He sets the bowl down and waits for you to finish. “You put in whatever you have until it tastes the way you like it.” He goes on and explains. You grab the bowls and spoons to throw them in the sink.

 

After looking at the pot for a moment, you find a lid and cover it before putting it in the fridge for later. It’s good food, and leftovers may taste just as good. “Want to see what’s on the TV?” The longer you put off being alone means the longer it will take before the shadows lengthen into nightmares.

 

Yes, you’re using Bucky to distract you from the past. Not just as a distraction, however. You really do like him. You enjoy spending time with your very layered neighbor, and learned about each layer that he’s willing to reveal to you.

 

Just as you enjoy not having to be in control around him. You like how you are able to let down your guard without fear. At least without the fear of him dragging you back.

 

You look back from putting the dishes in the sink to see him still standing there. “I want to spend more time with you.” A quick look at the clock tells you the time and what could possibly be playing at this house. You’ve watched quite a bit of television over sleepless nights that you wanted a mindless pastime to pass the hours with. “The Twilight Zone should be on right now.”

 

He nearly has a smile when he nods and comes close up behind you. “Sounds like a plan, sugar.” You turn around in time to watch him leave the room.

 

A few moments are all you needed to take to finish cleaning out the dishes so you can go and spend some time with another human. You don’t recognize this episode, which really isn’t surprising. Many nights you fiddle with different designs instead of trying to be mindless. Being mindless only works for a few hours while working yourself into exhaustion can go for even longer. You get a lot more done doing that, too.

 

You sit down next to him as the pilot on the show gets his mission. Around the time that he meets the girl is when you notice how much colder the room is than it was earlier. A quick glance to Bucky shows that he looks even more uncomfortable. The show talking about cryogenics (well, a variation of it) seems to make him look even more uncomfortable.

 

Going on instincts, which is what you seem to be doing a lot lately, you get up with an excuse (you don’t really remember what it was but it worked to keep Bucky on the couch) and grab the blanket from the bed. “Want to share?” You ask him, already wrapped up in the blanket yourself.

 

The air conditioner seems to be really on the fritz. You need to get ahold of the super (or whoever it is that’s responsible for fixing faulty appliances in your building) in the morning.

 

His look counters his words to you. “I’m fine.” Going by the look he was giving the blanket, and not his words, you get closer to him so you can throw the cover over the both of you. “Thank you.” He mumbles out so that you can just hear his words.

 

You nod, already turning your attention to the TV screen. The man is going to go on a forty-year journey to discover if a planet can inhabit life and when he gets back, everyone will have aged while he stayed the same. He was going to come back to a world that moved on while he was frozen.

 

Not really frozen, most like put in suspended animation in a gel-like substance full of nutrients. At least that’s how you understand the episode is trying to put across to the audience. It wouldn’t really work like that, though. You would need to put some type of tube into the man to give him nutrients, either through the mouth or straight into the stomach. The human skin works more as a barrier from the outside world and not as a way of absorbing nutrients.

 

“I wish I had that choice.” Bucky finally answers when the man returns home as an old man while the woman had stayed young to unite with him after forty years.

 

You put your thoughts on hold to start down the path that Bucky was starting on. “Come again?”

 

“To be frozen.” He won’t look at you, just at the screen in front of the both of you. “Or to stay awake. HYDRA didn’t give me that choice.”

 

HYDRA… Frozen… “You’re the Winter Soldier.” It was a statement, not a question. Pieces that were already there and trying to fit finally click completely into place. Once connected, the information wasn’t going to be ignored.

 

The tenseness that had been draining out of him was suddenly back, but still he wasn’t looking at you. “I was HYDRA’s fist for seventy years, sugar.”

 

Memories. Flashes of things that were nearly wiped out from the concussion that you received only a few days afterwards. “I fixed your arm, and the memory machine.”

 

He turns away from the screen to put his entire focus back on you. He’s looking at you more deeply than he has before, as though trying to remember something. “You’re the kid.” His face is scrunched up even more, as though trying to put even more pieces together. “The machine worked differently afterwards. I was able to… I remembered Stevie.”

 

You nod, kind of nervous at the attention that he was giving you. “I didn’t like what they did to you. I couldn’t… I couldn’t fight back. So I did the best thing I could do. I gave you a chance.” You intentionally broke the machine that time, but not completely. The scientists weren’t completely stupid, but you could cause some damage to it so that the next time it was used it wouldn’t be able to completely wipe the memories.

 

“Thank you.” Bucky tells you, and you both turn back to the screen. The show has been off for a while, but something else is playing. Closing the space between you two, you curl up next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoy fluff. Don't judge me.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!!! I love comments, dear readers.


	25. Long Range Weapons and Targets

You wake up by yourself, which is disappointing because Bucky really makes a great pillow. Not that you will admit that to him. A quick look at the clock lets you know that you have to head on to work anyway. You need money to be independent. Or at least enough so that you can stay off of any records that could give Mr. Hammer a chance to find you.

 

Without Bucky to be sort of scary in the corner, the regular harassment from before happens. It’s not TOO annoying. You’ve learned how to ignore them by now. Okay, maybe not, but you have to lie to yourself to make everything bearable.

 

A tiny voice, a voice that you wish you didn’t have, tells you that you didn’t really have to do this. That going back to Hammer would be easier. That things really weren’t that bad then. The past…the past is comfortable like that.

 

The known is always more comfortable than the unknown. You know that you can survive the abuse he put you through, but you didn’t think you could survive on your own.

 

You silently thank Pepper for being kind enough to actually talk to Mr. Hammer’s date that first night you met her. She was the first person that you had real contact with that wasn’t in Hammer’s pocket. It had been nice to not have to be on edge for once. Too many times…too many times others had helped him out if you dared to fight back.

 

You push the thoughts back, and focus on delivering the order to the correct table. You are off with the sun still high in the sky and walk the way back to your building. You open the door to expect a quiet evening to yourself.

 

Instead, you see Bucky with a row of guns set on a table and what seems to be whip topping in a bunch of old disposable pie plates.

 

“Good, you’re here.” He stands from where he had been cleaning one of them. “Today we are starting on long range weaponry.”

 

You stare at him, your brain not fitting the pieces together as quickly as you would have liked. “Long range? Not with those. Too noisy.”

 

He nods to where he must have found a few of your creations. “Your weapons. A few of those will work.”

 

You go ahead and nod, but you still eye the table with a warry gaze. “The pie plates?” As long as the two of you stayed away from the deadly weapons everything should be fine.

 

This time he was the sheepish one. “To try out your aim before using one of the weapons.” If he was anybody else, he would probably be rubbing his neck and avoiding your gaze. Instead he is pointedly looking at you.

 

Taking his lead, you drop your bag and pick up one of the pies. “Did you have a target in mind?” The weight is a little off because the cream wasn’t completely in the center.

 

“Not…” Before he completely finishes the word you throw the pie towards you. Even though his metal hand is in the air and blocking the plate faster than you gave into the urge. The cream still leaves the metal container to land a glob in his hair. “Specifically.”

 

He’s not quite smiling, but there was annoyed laughter in his expression. “How was my aim?” You force the question out, keeping all of your confidence around you. A spur of the moment idea that can easily backfire.

 

He shakes his head and hair falls into his face. “Needs work.” He picks up one of the plates himself. “Along with your form.” He’s going slow enough that you could easily duck from what he’s about to do, but you don’t.

 

A pile of the goop hits your chest and you can’t quite stop the grimace at the feel of it. “I’m guessing this makes it look better?” You motion towards where he had thrown the cream.

 

The feeling in the room suddenly shifts to something a bit more serious as he comes within touching distance. “No.” He lifts a hand as though about to reach out before suddenly clenching it and turning away. “I have targets set up on the walls to practice with. It will also help with seeing the range of what you’ve created.”

 

You go ahead and drag out the box that has a few of the little doodads that you’ve fiddled with. Most of them are just pieces of potentially whole products that you just haven’t felt comfortable with finishing. Deadly items are only needed if you want to actually kill someone. You just want to be safe. “Most are short range.” You start setting them out around you on the floor. “The longest range might be fifty feet. Maybe.”

 

You keep focused on sorting through the mess when boots enter your range of sight. “Do you know how to handle a gun?”

 

You pause in your sorting, and shake your head. “Not really.” You fiddle with something that works similar to a gun, but lacks the shape that most of them have. “Just because I make them doesn’t mean I know how to use them.” You pause when he crouches down to better look you in the face. “What?”

 

He holds out something in his hands, one of the pieces that you had pushed to the side earlier. “Make one.” The piece is something that can easily be turned into a scope with some time and the right skill set. “800 yards.”

 

You look up, your eyes locking with his. “That’s sniper range.” Even as you argue, your mind is fiddling with the pieces and what else you would need to make something that would work.

 

“I’m a sniper.” There’s no change in his tone, but there was ice where before there was warmth. “I need… You need to be able to take me out. Long range would be your best bet.”

 

You slam the metal and plastic thing on the floor. “I’m NOT going to take anybody out.” Fear is secondary to the anger that you are feeling. “Listen to me, Bucky.” You take his face in your hands. “You are teaching me to protect myself. I don’t need to protect myself from you.”

 

Hands circle your wirsts, the metal one slightly harder than the flesh. “I’m a monster, sugar. I have… I have killed many people.” You should be afraid, but like from the beginning you aren’t.

 

Most likely your sense of self-preservation is crap. Or maybe the whip cream in his hair is throwing off the dangerous edge that’s in his voice. Who knows?

 

“Killed.” You repeat his word to him, but you are emphasizing something else. “The Winter Soldier killed people. You… You are my neighbor. You have a friend named Stevie who has a thing against bullies. You know a scary hot woman named Natasha. You like peaches but not strawberries. Seriously. Who doesn’t like strawberries? You take my chocolate…”

 

“You took mine first.” He interrupts with a smirk, his grip loosening on your wrists and your breathing starts to slow from where you didn’t even notice that it had started to speed up.

 

You shrug, but the underlying panic is fading away and you can actually let out a breathy laugh. “Your chocolate looked better.”

 

He pulls you up so that the both of you stand at the same time. “Come on, Sugar. Show me what you can do with these things.” He nods to the long range weapons, but the heaviness from earlier is gone.

 

“Just because I make them doesn’t mean I know how to use them.” You stick your tongue out at him in a spur of the moment thing and pick up one of the things. “Theoretically, this should send out a barb…”

 

Each thing you created had different attributes that you had played with to get what you wanted from each. Not that you let him know that when you would hand him each to try out himself. It was humorous watching Bucky try to aim the odd looking creations and pull the various triggers for each. Watching him fight the urge to smash a few of them had you double up in laughter. Especially the one where he ended up pushing the self-destruct option.

 

Oops.


	26. Dates and Plum Pies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My niece suggested having one of the cops be a man of Hammer's. This may not be what she had in mind.

You want to spend all of your free time with Bucky, but the both of you do have lives separate from one another. You go to work, even if convincing him to not follow you is a pain, and he goes to…wherever it is that he goes off to. You still aren’t quite sure everything that he does. Probably Winter Soldier kind of things. You think he’s trying to piece together his memories, and keep other people off his back. Too many people are after him.

 

You have a disgraced billionaire looking for you; Bucky has multiple agencies.

 

Maybe it has something to do with feeling safe, or wanting to rebel against the feelings that pull you towards him, that you pick up the phone and dial the cop from earlier. He seemed like a nice guy, and maybe interacting with other people would be a good thing. Maybe. Possibly.

 

Possibly a bad thing, too, but you’ve taken a chance on Bucky so why not? Taking chances. Making mistakes. That’s what life is all about, right?

 

‘Unless you’re on the run,’ a voice that kind of sounds like Bucky’s echoes in your mind, but you push it to the side.

 

The plan is for a dinner date. You don’t tell Bucky, because why should you? He’s just a friend, it’s not like there’s any reason to him. You’ve been fine on your own for a while. You’ll be fine going on a simple date. He’s a cop, for goodness sakes. Cops are the people you are supposed to be able to go to for help, not wanted assassins with a price on their head.

 

But you still write a quick note for Bucky before leaving for the restaurant.  No reason to have him worry. No reason at all.

 

You throw on some clothing but pause before leaving. You can’t bring a gun like Bucky can, mostly because you don’t feel as comfortable carrying one, but you can use one of the weapons that you have created. But should you?

 

You are about to push whatever fears that are fluttering around in your mind when caution takes over. If you hadn’t been so careful at the beginning, he would have definitely gotten you back then. Also, money talks in all kinds of circles. Who’s to say that it hasn’t talked to the public servants? They need money to survive too.

 

You decide on one that looks like a bracelet and put it on. It may not be a lot, but it should slow someone down long enough for you to come up with a new plan. Just in case.

 

Just in case also has you grab one of the guns Bucky has given you to practice with. It is smaller than the ones he prefers, but it’ll fit your needs for tonight. As in, it is small enough to be hidden in a lot more places.

 

Plans within plans. That’s how you have survived, even if that isn’t why you’ve gotten close to Bucky. That was just trusting your gut and wanting to now waste pies.

 

 

 

 

 

**Restaurant:**

You nervously wipe your hands on your clothes before stepping on into the crowded place. So many things could go wrong with this many people in this small of a place, and you blame Bucky for making you think this way. You used to just be paranoid of the shadows and cameras, but now? Now you are afraid of any crowd.

 

Master assassin has taught the elusive weapons creator another thing. You are starting to think it’s around time that you need to think of something to teach him. Something.

 

You notice Officer Thompson sitting in the back corner, and he waves at you. You take a breath to fortify your nerves and wave back at him. You carefully move through the people so that none of them actually have a chance to touch you before standing next to the table. Thompson has the chair pulled out and you keep your smile firmly in place. “Thank you.” You tell him before sitting down. You can’t quite stop the flinch when his hand brushed your shoulders, though.

 

His look is somewhat concerned, but he doesn’t say anything for which you are extremely grateful for. “So… You never did tell me your name.” Thompson starts out with what you assume was supposed to look suave, but just puts you even more on edge.

 

A name… your mind flickers to the one you were called years ago and given to you by your parents before flicking it to the side. Bucky. James. “Jamie.” You tell him, kind of flinching at how your brain ran to Bucky when you started to feel nervous. At work they had a different name, but they had given you a nickname to fit more into the clientele.

 

Seriously, nobody is named Glitter or Baby. Except maybe celebrity babies. Poor infants.

 

“Jamie.” He smiles, and you just nod. What else are you supposed to do when someone says your supposed name? “I’m Alex. Officer Thompson is a bit formal, don’t you think?”

 

Your smile is a bit tighter, but you have to keep it in place. Everything is just a play. “Just a bit.” You focus in on your menu.

 

“What would you like to drink this evening?” A male voice interrupts your perusal of the menu. This was reminding you a bit too much of something that you thought forgotten.

 

Selective eidetic memory. Fun times.

 

“Wine.” Thompson orders.

 

“Water.” You tell the waiter at the same time.

 

You smile awkwardly at him and he takes the lead. “Red special.” He tells the waiter. When the waiter moves on to the next table, his smile is slightly apologetic. “You don’t have to drink with me. I just want this evening to be the start of something special.”

 

 _No flashback. No flashback._ You beg your mind to stay focused. It has to stay focused. You can’t be distracted tonight. Just in case.

 

You breath back the rising panic and start counting the deformities on the wall behind Thompson’s, uh Alex’s, head. “It’s fine. I’m just not a fan of alcohol.”

 

He looks a little taken back, but nods. “That’s fine. Really. Very fine.” You start pulling at the napkin you placed in your lap just moments before. “Tell me something about yourself.” You look up to see Alex leaned back in his chair with a soft smile on his face.

 

 _Not a demand. Some people ask by demanding._ You still don’t believe what your mind is trying to say, but you have to hold on to that. “I, uh, collect spoons.” Spoons? Seriously? At least beating yourself up about how awful you are at lying is better than thinking of Mr. Hammer.

 

Darn it. Why do you do that to yourself?  


“What kind of spoons?” He actually looks interested. Who the heck is interested in spoons? It had been the most boring thing you could think of. Also the only thing, but whatever.

 

“Silver, mostly.” You start to babble. “Silver tarnishes, you know? But there are different methods on cleaning the metal…”

 

Metals you know about. You can talk about metals.

 

Alex just looks completely lost, but he does nod along with what looks like a whimsical smile. The waiter drops off the food before the conversation steers to something that you didn’t expect. “You aren’t what I’d expected.”

 

You freeze and slowly set the fork you had been using down. “What do you mean?” You subtly move the knife from the table and into your lap. You know the caution in your face must be obvious, because the humor on his face is mostly gone.

 

“From the news report.” Thompson, and he was definitely back to being Thompson, explained in an offhand manner.  “I recognized you from the photo. I just wanted to figure out why you wouldn’t go back to your fiancé.”

 

“Who?” Playing dumb always worked before, or at least the last time someone pointed out that you happened to look familiar. Seriously, who pays _that_ much attention to celebrity and business magazines?

 

“The billionaire whats-his-name, Hammer something.” The cop shrugged as though the name didn’t matter, and maybe it didn’t, to him. “You look a lot like his missing fiancé.”

 

You keep the forced smile in place, tuning into your surroundings to tell if there were any other possible attackers besides the one in front of you. One enemy so far, but that would easily change. He probably had friends there. “At least now I know who my semi-famous twin is.” You try to throw his suspicions off before standing, trying to silently portray that this date was officially over.

 

Alex, though, stands with you and reaches out to keep you from storming off. “Wait. Jamie.” You actually look into his earnest eyes. “I don’t know the whole story, but I do know fear when I see it. All you have to do is ask.”

 

You look at him, the fear from earlier turning over to desperation. “Nobody can help me, Alex. Now please, let go of her. Hammer killed her a long time ago.”

 

“Wait.” But you don’t. You do set the knife back down on the table, though. He looks at it for a moment before looking at the determination in your eyes. You don’t give him time to ask any other questions before briskly walking out of the place.

 

The caution from earlier is gone, at least from the crowd. You have a new, maybe enemy, behind you.

 

 

 

** Apartment: **

You don’t bother knocking, but just using the key that he gave you with the warning of not to lose it. Though he still just picks your lock when he wants to enter. Bucky is a bit of a jerk like that. Even if he is teaching you how to pick locks as well.

 

A useful skill to have, at least according to him. Maybe you should tell him that already could? But you find poking at him to be fun.

 

Today, though, isn’t about fun. He turns, not looking startled at your entering but startled at something else. “Sugar? What are you wearing?”

 

“Don’t ask.” You tell him, the tremors that you had felt trying to start finally fading at the sight of him wearing an apron and holding a pie plate. “Pie?”

 

His smile is shy, but it chases away the shadows of the past. “Plum. I was going to surprise you.” He shrugs, and the sight is more than you can stand.

 

Feelings, not thoughts, have you cross the room and wrap your arms around his waist. “Thank you.” You push your face into his chest and just breath in his scent.

 

“Sugar, uh, pie.” You don’t look up, just shake your head at whatever it was that he was saying. “It’s fresh from the oven. I don’t want to…”

 

“You won’t burn me.” You tell him, not moving from where you have decided to plaster yourself to his apron. After a few moments, you feel a faint touch on your back from him before the arm slowly start to tighten around you.

 

You faintly hear the pie plate being set down on the chipped counter before he’s holding you with both. “I won’t, sugar.” You just hug him tighter, needing to feel somewhat safe in a world that was feeling all the more ripped apart.

 

You have to believe him, because what else can you do? At the end of the day, all you have is yourself, but sometimes you have to trust another.

 

Why not someone who seems just as broken, or maybe even more than yourself?

 

What you said to Alex was right. Nobody can help you. At least nobody like him. Thompson believed in the system, but the system was how you ended up with Hammer in the first place. You can’t trust it, but you can trust someone that the system has given up on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it has been a while. Sorry, faithful readers.
> 
> And yeah, I know I didn't make the cop be a bad guy. At least not a straight up bad guy. Oops. Just something that always gets on my nerves in movies (and shows) is how the only 'good' people are the main people. Seriously, there are some people on the sidelines that aren't going to be a part of the crowd yelling for blood. They just don't know the whole story.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. Can't wait to hear from you guys.


	27. Baking for Keeps

You stay in his arms for a few more moments until it may have started to become awkward. Maybe. Possibly.

 

“What happened, sugar?” Bucky’s chest echoes beside your ear, but you don’t want to answer him. But you also can’t spend the rest of the night with your face smashed into his very nice smelling shirt.

 

You chuckle to cover up what would easily become sobs if you gave it a chance. “I’m an idiot.” You point at the pie he just sat down. “You made me a pie?”

 

He rubs the back of his neck in what is definitely a sign of being nervous. “Well, uh, sort of? I was hoping we could share it. After it cools.”

 

You are not pouting. Nope, even if you feel like it. “But it tastes better warm…you know that.”

 

“Not if you burn your tongue.” He reminds you, but he’s still gathering up plates and forks enough for the two of you. You take the plates from him and leave him to dealing with the hot pie. He’s less likely of the two of you to burn yourself.

 

He waits until you are digging into your piece of the pie before he starts his questioning. At least he waits until your mouth is full. “Sugar, what happened?”

 

The happiness from just a few moments goes away and you poke at the pie. It’s actually pretty good. “I need to figure out a way to make a face distorter. How do you think I’d look with a beard?” Facial hair is a simple way to change ones appearance. Really simple. If you have a beard/mustache, shave it off. If you don’t? Then hide out until you have one grow in.

 

Really simple, if you naturally grow facial hair.

 

He’s fighting a smile, and you know it. You know it because of the twinkling that shows up right after you say or do something that’s just a bit ridiculous. “I don’t think that’ll work.”

 

You go ahead and poke at the beautiful piece of pie. Beautiful, because it was actually made the way that it needed to be. “Someone figured me out. The smart thing would be to move on, but I don’t want to.” You are talking to the pie so you don’t see the tightening on his fingers around the fork, or how close he came to breaking something.

 

He waits until you look back up at him, and his face is soft when he asks the next question. “What are we going to do?”

 

“We?” You startle a bit at his choice of words. A TV psychologist you remember watching once late at night talked about paying attention to those things. The books you read as a teenager also told you that, but you liked the TV person’s smile better than the tutor.

 

“Yes.” Pieces of the Winter Soldier talked about in the news is there, but it has combined in a way with the part of him that you label as James so that you aren’t afraid. “Where you go, I plan on following.” Bucky is good boy, but the other two sides of him were just as loyal but in different ways.

 

Bucky would always be the best friend.

 

James is the silent teacher.

 

Soldier is the guardian.

 

Bucky was piecing the different pieces of him back together. Kind of how you would be trying to put a pie back together after cutting in into pieces and given to different people to personalize to their liking. It was still the same thing, just different in the extra pieces.

 

You do hurry up and fill your mouth with another bite though, to put off saying something foolish. “I’d like to stay. Alex doesn’t seem like a threat. More like a good guy who has no idea the kind of monsters that live in the world.”

 

“Even the shadows are afraid of me.” Bucky’s smile is pure teeth, so the darker side of his personality was probably trying to poke through. “What kind of monster am I?”

 

You shrug, already fighting the twitching in your hands to be busy and creating something. “Mine, I guess. But you aren’t a monster. Just my friend.” You take another bite of the pie, part of the way to keep you busy and another way because it actually was good. Better than yours, but not that you are ever going to admit that to him. “This is good. Mind teaching me?”

 

“No. As long as you teach me how to make the…what did you call it? Mini-bombs?” You roll your eyes at his answer, but nod anyway. Of course he would want to know how to make something that explodes, not as though he already knows how to make that kind of stuff.

 

Research, folks. Knowledge is power. “Sure. But only ones with a small amount of power. No need to blow up the building.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the chapter in mind, but the one that wanted to be written. Seems to be a habit of mine, right?
> 
> Waiting to hear from you readers.


	28. Making Messes and Taking Control

It takes you a few moments to run next door and grab the materials that you would need to teach him the basics of what you have lovingly called ‘mini-bombs’. Those things pack a punch when put in the right places. For a human, just a basic one should be able to blow off a limb. The worse part, or maybe the best part depending on how you look at it, is how the bomb can connect to most materials and stay there until the explosions.

 

The bomb also completely destroys itself upon detonation. No trace, friends. No trace means no one can track. In the shady underworld it was something that pretty much everyone would want. Too bad for them you finalized the product after running off or they would have a few floating around. There’s enough lives on your soul without adding anymore to them.

 

“I have my supplies. You?” You call out to him as you push the door open with a foot because your hands are full with bags of supplies. “Bucky?”

 

You hear a small crash and follow the noise to the kitchen where, somehow, what looks like a pound of flour decided to explode right over Bucky. Looks like, because you have no idea what else would cause that big of a mess. He looks up, his dark hair definitely sporting the white covering. “My arm needs to be recalibrated.” His expression, on anybody else’s face, would be falling into the pouting territory.

 

Since it’s Bucky, you are going to define it as sheepish. “Fine motors not working correctly?” You ask, already setting down the tools you brought so you can better dig in them for something that would work. You find something near the bottom of the bag, because isn’t that how things always work? It was then that you look up to see his expression still hasn’t changed, nor his eyes have moved from you. “What?”

 

“What are you doing?” Bucky finally asks while coming towards you. Thinking back to when you were partly sane, you should be afraid of a not so sane trained assassin who has been around about four times as long as you have.

 

But when have you ever been sane? Anyway, shouldn’t you be over the subconscious fear reaction by now? Apparently not if your heart rate keeps raising every time he gets within a certain range of you. “Getting my tools to fix the fine motors. You have the ingredients? For the pie?”

 

He nods, probably just silently agreeing to your inner monologue that you both are kind of nuts at this point. Even if he is, most likely, not a mind reader. “Of course.” Even if the way he comes and sits down so that you can more easily fiddle with his mechanical arm makes you question the statement.

 

Aliens coming out of the sky really changes your definitions of what you ‘know’. Everything can be put into the questioning column from now on. Who knows? Maybe Elvis really is running around in his suit doing miracles at this point.

 

It doesn’t take you long to figure out the pattern and connections that give him such good control over the piece of equipment. “What’s your favorite color?” You randomly ask the first question that pops into your mind.

 

He thinks over the question, but at least this time he doesn’t shrug. Or do whatever that thing he does with his face that means he doesn’t know but doesn’t want to tell you that he doesn’t know. “I don’t know.”

 

“Just a thought…” You cut off when something that doesn’t quite match what you would expect has you looking more into it. “Of something that you can write down in your journal.” Once that lines up, you roll back on your heels. “Move your fingers.”

 

Thinking he’s smart, he moves the fingers in his flesh hand. “Bucky.” You call him out, which just has him look up at you with a look that was so innocent that it couldn’t be. He does move his mechanical fingers, though.

 

“Thank you.” You tell him, before grabbing a small marble out of the bag you brought. Why is there a marble in there? You really don’t know. Sometimes things just catch your eye and you put them in there as a ‘just in case’ scenario. Sometimes it has come in handy. Sometimes? Well, not so much. “Smash it.” You hold the marble out in the palm of your hand for him to grab.

 

“Seriously?” He asks in an incredulous tone that just has you look up at him to roll your eyes.

 

“No. I’m just holding a round piece of glass for you to look at it.” You couldn’t keep back the sarcastic comment even if you tried. Which you really didn’t do this time. “I need to know how much control you have over the pressure you exert with your fingers. If I remember correctly, the metal used in the creation of your arm should easily be strong enough to smash the glass.”

 

He doesn’t react, but he does take the marble from you and easily smashes it with the metal fingers. You try with a few other materials that he has laying around when you finally deem it safe enough to try out the control with his whole hand.

 

Instead of giving him a chance to back off, you quickly put your hand flesh hand in his metal one. You look up, your eyes meeting with his scared ones. “Give my hand a squeeze.” You tell him, confident that he would have the control needed to not break every bone in your hand.

 

“Sugar…that may not be the best idea.” Bucky tells you, but you nod at him to go ahead. He doesn’t look like he’s going to, until he finally gives a gentle squeeze.

 

Now that just makes you smile. You reach with your other hand to grab his flesh one. “See? You have the control, no one else.” Yeah, so maybe there’s another level to your words than just the physical. Maybe it’s your way of reminding him, and yourself, that there’s always a choice.

 

The moment was getting a bit too serious, and so you break it by standing up and dusting the flour off of you that came from Bucky himself. “What’s first? Cooking or explosions?”

 

“Baking.” Bucky decides and stands up to his full height before leaning down such that more flour falls from him and onto you. “We can have explosions with the pie in the oven.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why are all of these chapters not the actual planned ones? Oh well. I like this when it started floating around in my mind, so here it is.  
> There will be kitchen chemistry in the next one. ;)  
> Oh, and a few explosions.
> 
> At least that's the plan. Hope to hear from you readers. Comments make my day. So do kudos, but comments give just a bit more feedback. You know?


	29. Plum Pies and News

You follow Bucky back into the kitchen and take a moment to stare at the various ingredients set out on the counter, already separated into the amounts that you suspect the two of you would need to create the pie. “It looks nearly as organized as my workshop.” You mutter out, already moving towards the recipe he has taped up on the cabinet.

 

“Workshop?” Bucky asks out, already starting to put the flour and sugar together in the bowl. You come closer to stand over his shoulder. Thinking on it, maybe playing with recipes before you know how the different ingredients interact may not have been the best idea for your pies.

 

Though, in your defense, messing up a recipe is a lot less deadly than the things you used to play with. Corrosive materials merely being a piece of the puzzle. Sometimes radioactive materials do come into play with certain weapons, even if they aren’t your favorite types of creations.

 

You lean over his shoulder to take a closer look at what he’s mixing. “Back at Jus…” You shake your head at the slip from the past. So maybe all of the past wasn’t nearly as awful as it could have been, which is part of the reason why it had taken you so long. “The place I grew up. I had a workshop to work with in my area. I miss some of my tools.” The both of you are silent until he hands you the bowl to keep stirring.

 

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to finish mixing the crust and rolling it out. Bucky hands you another bowl and motions which ingredients you need to gather for the filling. “I find it easier to have what you need ready before you need it.”

 

You duck under his arm to be able to pour the filling in. “I usually do that when I’m really getting into my creations. Or at least when I have an idea of what I’m fiddling with.” You brush past him as he lays the top on the pie. You ignore the spark between the two of you, passing it off as merely static electricity.

 

He’s the one that puts the pie in the oven, and then it is your turn to guide him in a creation that you took pride in having created. Similar to how he laid out the ingredients in the kitchen, you lay out the tools and materials you would need to show him how you create the mini-bombs. Each step was laid out in front of you, and while you could easily create it from memory, it would be easier to show Bucky each step at a time.

 

You hand Bucky the tools and materials that he would need for finishing the first step before manipulating the materials needed. After doing your step, you lead his hands in moving everything into the correct shape that you had done with memory.

 

You may have created a bit too many of these things for Mr. Hammer and his company. It had been one of your first creations, and one that no one has been able to quite copy. You keep your secrets about certain creations close to heart, especially ones that you can easily booby trap to destroy itself if anyone tried to mess with it. A protection measure, if you may, to make certain that nothing would fall into the wrong hands. Even Hammer couldn’t follow everything, even if he did have cameras on nearly every move you made.

 

“Done.” You tell Bucky, taking the nearly finished product from him.

 

He keeps his eyes on you as you do the finishing step to ensure the secrets of the creation would remain that way. “What are you doing?” Bucky asks softly, as though trying to not destroy your concentration.

 

He really shouldn’t worry so much. You’ve done these in your sleep more than once. “Protection.” You do the final twist and look up at him with a grin. “It keeps the bomb from being traceable, or copied if it fell into the wrong hands. If bothered, it will destroy itself. Implode instead of explode.”

 

He nods, and you are grateful that he doesn’t ask any more questions about that. You’ve had a few creations stolen over the years, or at least taken and used in such manner that you didn’t want it to be done. “Fifteen minutes until the pie is done baking.” Bucky says, as though in an offhand manner. “Are we going to test the mini things?”

 

“Mini-bombs.” You hold the thing up that looks a little bit like a hockey puck. “Sure.” You toss the one you created at a chair in the place. Bucky’s eyes widen as the little bomb beeped and he covered your body with his right before the chair has a chance to explode. You let out a breathy laugh as he looks down at you.

 

He doesn’t look nearly as amused as you are. “That could have been…”

 

“Small range, Bucky.” You can’t keep the smile from you face, and you really don’t want to. His protectiveness is sweet, even if unneeded. “Mine has a lot less power than yours. Sorry about the chair, though.”

 

“Less?” He’s still hasn’t moved from where he is, not that you are going to start complaining. Bucky is very different than the past, and that is something that you can grab onto to keep whatever kind of panic back. Also, you are kind of distracted with other thoughts than those.

 

You nod, the excitement slowly fading away. “Yeah. Yours may pull down a building if put in the right place, or wrong, depending on how you look at it.” He moves so that his weight is now off of you and you sit on up beside him. “You put a bit more of the, uh, I’m going to say secret powder, in yours than I did. The right amount for what I usually create, just not the right amount for a small test.”

 

He checks the clock once more, before looking back at you. “Want to check the pie?”

 

“Yes!” You are the one that leads the way into the kitchen to take out the pie that you are just now noticing the smell of. The pie is placed up on the table and you smile at the fact that the pie is not black like the one that you did on your own not that long ago. “Looks good.”

 

The noise of a TV from another apartment can be faintly heard in the background, but you ignore it in favor of watching Bucky cut the pie into pieces so the two of you could try it.

 

If you had heard the TV, you would have ran.

 

The news was talking about the Sokovia Accords before going on to talk about Justin Hammer. He was enjoying his new found freedom by traveling around the globe, still waiting on news about his fiancé to come to light. The thing that would have made you run, however, was the places that were on his calendar.

 

The next city the newly freed Justin Hammer was going to stop in was the city you had just taken refuge in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added this story to a list that I'd really like to finish within the forseeable future. It's actually at the top of said list.  
> I have planned about six more chapters. You may not like the ending, but the more I think about it, the more I like it.
> 
> Hope to hear from you readers. :)


	30. Captain America: Civil War – Why, Bucky, why?

After eating the pie, you eventually head back over to your place with plans to meet up in the morning like usual. Bucky still feels as though it’s his duty to walk you to work. Again, kind of sweet but not necessary. Especially during the daylight hours.

 

“You have a pie planned for us tonight?” You ask him, practicing your observation skills by trying to remember the area from earlier and making mental notes about the differences between today and then. It’s a not so fun game that you did years ago to help keep your memory sharp.

 

“Blueberry.” Bucky tells you, seeming to not be completely there. He focuses a few moments in before pulling out his notebook to write something down. You don’t ask, but merely wait for him to finish before you start walking again. “I don’t have any right now, but I’ll pick some up at the market.”

 

Your smile is a bit on the sly side when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “You can go while I’m at work, you know.”

 

He doesn’t look as amused as you do, but he isn’t glaring so all’s good in the world. “I know, sugar. Why don’t you want me to go with you to work?”

 

The two of you stop in front of the place that you both dread and appreciate at the same time. Work is work, and like before, you are grateful that this place didn’t look too deeply into backgrounds for employment. “Because I need to know that I can get them to back off on my own.” You keep the serious expression on your face, because this really is important to you.

 

Proof, at least to yourself, that you can do it. That you can, if need be, stand up for yourself.

 

“Sugar, there’s not need…” You hold up a hand to stop him from saying whatever it was that he was going to.

 

Reaching up, you put a finger to his lips. “I know, Bucky, but I need to do this.” He eventually nods, and you go forward to hold him in a quick hug before back up. “Thanks. Don’t forget the blueberries!”

 

He smirks as you leave, and everything seems to be falling into place. “I won’t.”

 

You get into work, and focus on being the person that you know that you can be. Instead of flinching whenever someone tries to get handsy, you smack the hands away with a smile filled with teeth. You aren’t afraid of them running to your boss, and you take gratitude in the smiles and looks the other workers give you. You are standing up for yourself, and it was refreshing.

 

When it’s time for you to go home, you look around to find a Bucky that wasn’t there. You aren’t worried, not really. He may already be back at his own place and getting all of the supplies ready. Or he can easily be lurking from some building like he did near the beginning. You push whatever doubts are floating in your mind away, and fill them with thoughts that he’s fine.

 

You notice a paper on the ground, and you tense up at the picture on the front page. Impossible. Bucky couldn’t have done that. He hasn’t had time to go and blow up a building. He has barely left your side in the close past. Anyway, the Bucky you know wouldn’t do something like that.

 

No. Bucky isn’t a killer. The Winter Soldier? Yes. James? No. Almost every side of Bucky wouldn’t do the deed they are blaming him of, and definitely not the side in control. Bucky isn’t a killer. No.

 

You speed up, but careful not to go too fast to gather any more attention than you already have. You have to fight back the urge to run at all of the flashing lights and black suits surrounding the building that you’ve come to think of as home. You keep your confidence from earlier carefully up on your way past the cops and watchful gazes so you can enter your own apartment.

 

You glance just long enough into Bucky’s place to see that it has been ripped apart. Remembering all of the caution tape from the walk up the stairs, the whole place was filled with a lot more holes than when you left this morning.

 

You do your best to not draw any attention, and to keep your composure, until the door closes behind you to fall apart. What could have happened from this morning to now?

 

You glance at the TV and turned it on, but as low as possible. The news was going on with the story of how the infamous Winter Soldier was captured this morning for questioning in the bombing. Different footage plays from different angles of how The Winter Soldier, also known as Sergeant Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, was brought in. They focused on how he fought back to be free.

 

No one mentioned how easily he could have killed any of the people that came after him (baring the superheroes that came that weren’t supposed to, at least according to the news). No one did, because all they wanted to show was the destruction and chaos.

 

They were turning Bucky into a monster, and there was nothing you could do about it. At least, nothing you could do that wouldn’t put your own position in jeopardy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter done tonight...or this morning. Whatever. I'm still awake, so tis night, lol.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one, too. We'll see how much further I'll get this week. 'Night, readers.


	31. Stupid Reporters...

It wasn’t long before the police finally left and the place quietened down. You poke your head out of your door to glance at the door covered in police tape before ducking back inside. The smart thing would be to run. This story was sure to draw a lot of attention that you could ill afford. But…But Bucky was your friend, and friends don’t do that to friends. You don’t have the skills to break him out of the place, but you can stay put long enough to maybe come in handy.

 

You don’t know how, but there has to be some way that you can help him out. Maybe come forward? But how would that work? If you become Bucky’s alibi, they would surely start a background search into your own past to find out who you are. Then, it was only a little scoot before Hammer would come knocking and drag you back.

 

But was it nearly as bad as the place they are holding Bucky at right now? You could always escape again, theoretically. You did sneak out of the bathroom last time, and he couldn’t keep you locked away from the world forever, right? Right?

 

You grab for the gun Bucky left you at the knocking coming from your door. Following the rules that he gave you last time, you go to the side and slowly peek through the peephole. You don’t recognize the woman standing outside your door, but ignoring her probably wouldn’t make her go away. At least according to the conversation you overhear.

 

“I just saw the door close, John.” The woman hisses to someone who must be just out of range of your peephole. “Someone is home.”

 

“Or you could be imagining things.” A man, presumably John, says from what you think is on the left side of the door. “I still don’t get why you want to talk to everyone. The police already gave their statement. The Winter Soldier was hold up here, yadda yadda.”

 

Someone huffs behind the door, probably the woman. “There has to be more to the story. The other neighbors say this one spent the most time with him. Maybe she’ll have some secrets about The Winter Soldier?”

 

They were talking about Bucky as though he was an object. A thing. Bucky isn’t a thing, he’s a friend and not just some topic for them to talk about. “His name is Bucky.” You snap as you slam the door open to the two people standing outside your door. “Not Winter Soldier. Not Sergeant Barnes. Bucky. He’s a person with thoughts and feelings.” You stand in the doorway, arms crossed over your chest in annoyance.

 

“Miss…we didn’t mean to offend you.” The woman tried to be placating, but to your ears it was all false. She was a shark on a hunt for a story. She didn’t care about the truth. She reminds you of so many other people that used to crowd you when you were on Hammer’s arm like candy.

 

Your eyes flicker up to the guy because the beeping light from his camera finally caught your attention. The look on his face, one of recognition, has you freeze in fear before turning back to anger. “Hey, are you…”

 

You cut him off with a raised hand, the past you coming back to you when needed. This wasn’t the first time you’ve deal with reporters, even if you had hoped it would be. “Who I am is none of your concern.” You rack your eyes over both of them, being sure to be as disdainful as possible.

 

“We just wanted to learn why The Winter… uh, Bucky, blew up the United Nations building.” The woman started talking, and you just move back to slam the door shut in their faces.

 

Her words just make you even more annoyed. “He didn’t blow up the building.”

 

You are right before slamming the door completely shut when a hand moves between. You don’t want to smash her fingers, even if it is really tempting to do. “Ma’am, listen, they have video…”

 

“And I have my memory.” You bite out, one hand still on the door knob ready to shut it as soon as she moved her hand. “He was baking a plum pie with me.” The words must have shocked her, because she finally let go of the door long enough so you can shut it.

 

Now you are fine with ignoring the pounding until it eventually stops. You have plans to make, and weapons. If you are going to get Bucky out, you’ll need to stay safe yourself. He was right. It was time to stop running and to face the past.

 

Considering your face is probably going to be all over the news by tomorrow, you should get on the ball about protecting your surroundings and coming up with an escape route. You have the materials you’ll need right in the apartment, except for the papers to leave.

 

You dig in a drawer and turn on the phone that you haven’t turned on since coming to this city. “Hardison? Mind sending me some new papers? I know the cost, just that my old ones were burnt.” He asks you the name for a contact, and you know what he’s saying. “Jami Buckland, J-A-M-I. Payment will be in the mail.”

 

It’ll take a couple of weeks, but soon enough you’ll have a new identity to escape with. Now you have to protect your area. You aren’t going to leave until you get word from Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone catch the references? I made a few near the end.


	32. Booby Trapping the Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure that I'm going to stop at Chapter 35. I have the basic outline for the rest of the chapters, and if I actually follow it, this should end at 35.
> 
> I'm in a writing mood. Enjoy. I love feedback.

Everything starts with a plan, and that’s what you start with. While your baking skills could use a lot of work, your planning skills don’t have that need. You methodically draw a rendering of your apartment and all of the places that could easily be a problem for security reasons. You still go to work, even though you dig into the pile of money that you got at the beginning of your run (hocking very expensive jewels may not give you the actual value, but it does give you enough to start).

 

You stock pile food in the place, along with drink. You use your knowledge to focus your preparations on the windows and doors. As unwanted entrances, those areas would be the most vulnerable. You know how to escape through them, though anyone coming in wouldn’t be able to see most of the measures you have put into place.

 

One eye and ear is always tuned to the news. You are keeping track of everything that they know about what’s going on with Bucky, and everything that Hammer might possibly know about you. You can’t help the smile when you learn that a part of the Avengers has surrounded him in their circle. He’s not alone in doing whatever it is that he’s doing.

 

If Bucky wanted to go underground, he would. Instead, he’s doing something else with the masked warriors known partly for solving problems and partly from making a big mess. Lately, the news has leant towards focusing on the bad that came from the heroes/vigilantes. Like most people, they weren’t seeing the full picture. They saw the chaos that came from rooting out the problem, not how the problem was slowly killing the creature.

 

It's not your place to teach them, because people just can’t be taught when they are ingrained with the philosophy that quiet means peace and chaos means war.

 

You hear a news reporter mention a General Ross, and that just makes you frown. The name was familiar in something you read years ago, but it takes a few moments to place it. Weapons. People. Dr. Banner! Oh, dear. Patterns.

 

You flip through the information you have about the present past, and the far off past to line them up into something. Your brain marks the places where there are similarities that line up just a bit too well for it to be a coincidence. This leads you to writing down your observations, even if it does distract you from the goal you had of electrifying the window. It’s not activated, yet, and would only give enough of a jolt to knock an average sized male on his back.

 

The null hypothesis, or the one expected, would be that there are no similarities between the past with Banner and the past with the…Scarlet Witch. You probably should have been paying more attention to the news back when Bucky was around than you did. The problem was that there were a lot more similarities than differences when lined up.

 

You don’t like to believe in conspiracies, but if something from your life hasn’t taught you this, it was that there are conspiracies everywhere if you happen to go looking. Someone is doing a setup, or maybe the world really isn’t as random as you would like to believe.

 

You put that information to the side to look back over your sketch. Most of the place has been turned into an accident waiting to happen. At least for anyone coming in from the outside. The safest area you’ve deemed was the one with direct sightlines for the door. The windows have been blacked out with all of the curtains you have hung up. The door was the more vulnerable line, now, because you still had to use it.

 

There’s also another, secret, escape route you’ve partly created. Partly, because the other end can’t be opened yet. It would just be another entrance, then, for whoever tried to come, if you went ahead and finished making it. You may not get your deposit back, though.

 

You glance back at the paper on the small kitchen table, and frown. Patterns. There was something there that you couldn’t quite figure out. You would need more information before being able to come to a conclusion. The tentative conclusion was that there was a power play going on behind the screens, with General Ross either as the cog or the dupe. At least in the case of the Sokovia Accords. With the case of Bucky? Well, he didn’t do it, so someone must be setting him up. You don’t know who, but someone. Possibly someone in a position of power.

 

You set the paper back down on the table so you can get back to a more pressing problem.  You’ve forgotten what time you put the pie in the oven. Following one of the recipes you found, but putting your own spin to it. The pie is supposed to be a popcorn pie. A caramel popcorn pie.

 

Hopefully it’s not burned…


	33. Oops...He's Stevie?!

You stayed up all night finishing up the modifications on the new knife you are working on. Yes, knife. It may not be a regular knife, but the basic design is that of a knife. Well, sort of. The handle is the basic design, but the blade isn’t. The problem is keep the blade in the shape that you need to actually cause any damage. You may have been watching a few too many videos about superheroes lately.

 

The slamming of your front door flying open has you pulling the gun you’ve been keeping close at hand since Bucky was captured. You fire one shot at the blonde entering just as the sound of crashing glass and then someone letting out a yell comes to your ears. You are ready to fire another one when the gun is pulled from your dominant hand.

 

You don’t stop, though. You twist your other hand up with the paralyzing pen set and ready to go. However, before it has the chance to land your hand is caught by someone. Not perturbed, you kick out and hit dark one between the legs.

 

“Sugar.” A voice that you recognize has you stopped struggling in the grip of the blonde you may or may not have shot. You really didn’t see it hit. “This isn’t the homecoming I was expecting.”

 

The fear and determination from earlier fades away so that all you feel is joy. “Bucky!” You pull free to wrap your arms around him. After a few moments, you pull back to look up at his tired face. “You okay?”

 

“His arm was blown off.” A voice near the window strangles out and you hear the electricity shock him again. “What is this stuff?” Whoever the man in the window grumbles out.

 

You smile, proud at the creation even if no one else would be. “Electric webbing.” You smile down at the man laying down and trying not to move. “The more you squirm the more it electrocutes you.” You smile up at Bucky, glad that he was alright. “I was bored one evening.”

 

The smile he gives you doesn’t quite meet his eyes like it did before. “There you are.” The others looked confused at his words, but you understood them. You weren’t hiding anymore. “Your aim does need work, even though I’m glad you didn’t shoot Stevie.”

 

“I told you I…” You pause, looking over at the blonde giant that had burst into your apartment. You flick your thumb in his direction, incredulous. “ _He’s_ Stevie? The asthmatic who had problems with bullies?!” The man that you shot at shrugged sheepishly. “Oops.”

 

“Mind helping a friend out?” The man that came through the window groused, having moved a bit too much and having the webbing react negatively.

 

“Sorry.” You stammer out, already moving towards him to start gently undoing the nearly invisible threads. “I wasn’t expecting friendly company.” You eventually undo enough of the webbing so that he can help you unravel the threads. It was a lot faster with two people working on them.

 

By the time you finished, the other larger than life fellows in your apartment were arguing over the papers thrown about the table. “We need a plan.” Stevie announced over top his comrades. “A place to go, to recuperate, and to figure out what we’re going to do next.”

 

“I need a phone.” The man just released from the electric webbing announces. “Nat is probably moving Laura and the kids to a safe house, but I have to leave a message for them.”

 

“Here.” You pass him the phone that you used earlier. “Rotating number. Unhackable. Untraceable. Un…I don’t even know. Hardison gave it to me in exchange for a scrambler.” You shrug, not really caring enough to dig into the past enough to remember all of the conversation you had with the genius.

 

“Hardison?” Bucky asks, and you just shrug.

 

“A 24 year old genius with a smart phone and a problem with authority.” You pick up the paper you had been fiddling with earlier. “Hammer tried to recruit him, but Nana refused.” Softly, but maybe not soft enough for the Super Soldiers in the room, you tell yourself, “Wish I had a Nana…”

 

Stevie looks sharply at you, and so does Bucky, but none of them commented. You are grateful for that more than you can put into words. It was a secret wish, but one that you refuse to usually pull out. You are who you are because of what you went through. It still doesn’t mean that you wish you hadn’t had to go through it to get to where you are now.

 

“We need resources.” The one from the window tells the others. Ugh, how you wish they had given you names so that you can call them something else in your mind than what you have. Wait. Why not just remember them? “I don’t know about you guys, but most of my stashes have been burnt with SHIELD.”

 

“Too old.” Bucky mutters, and you focus in on the conversation instead of the pie you had went to get. “The ID’s wouldn’t work, and most things require money to start with.”

 

You bring in the caramel popcorn pie you made earlier, and took a breath to mention something that would be able to help the team of misfits that happened to find their way into your apartment. “I have money.”

 

Everyone goes silent, until suddenly they are all talking. Except for Bucky. He’s the one whose opinion that you cared about. “You sure, sugar?” He may not know the whole story, but he knew enough to have an idea.

 

That silences the others, for which you are extremely thankful for. Also for the silencer on the gun Bucky had let you borrow. “I’m sure. Remember? No more running.”


	34. Banks and Money Transfers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is technically the last chapter, but I have an epilogue planned for those of you who are really wanting more.

You dig into your wardrobe and dig out the dressiest outfit that your own. You have to look the part, or they’ll refuse to do your request. The best you have isn’t anywhere near what you used to have, but it should work. You dig out a floor board, happy that you actually dragged along the old ID even if it would have been better to dump it long ago. Now, though, now you need it to be able to withdraw enough of the sum to quieten a few people. The Avengers need payoff money, even if only the blonde that you’ve gotten to know as Clint seemed to agree.

 

He really likes the color purple. You can’t blame him there.

 

You smile on the way into the bank, ignoring Bucky’s warning and Clint’s advice. Bucky told you to keep watching your six. Clint? Well, his advice was best summed up as ‘be normal’. That’s kind of hard to do, considering how un-normal you are, but you are trying. You are trying to blend into your surroundings.

 

“How may I help you?” The bank teller asks, and you give the man your most warming smile.

 

You keep your gaze focused with his, trying to show honesty without being overbearing. “Manager, please. I’d like to make a large withdrawal today.”

 

“Name?” The teller asks, and you pull the confidence you’ve gained around you like a cloak. You’ll need it to pretend to be the person that the world thinks that you are.

 

“Justin Hammer.” You state, and you watch as he freezes in typing whatever he was doing. “Account number 10293847560774. Verification code 654789.” You give the numbers in a robotic voice, giving them out as the memories come to float around behind your eyes. You smile afterwards, a bit of a hunter’s glint in your eyes. “Need anything else?”

 

He stares at you with wide eyes. “Security code and ID.” He states, but you can see his hand already reaching for the phone.

 

Your smile becomes even more like that of a shark. “The only reason you should be reaching for that phone is to get ahold of a manager, sir.” He flinches, and you soften just a bit to show him that he’s being a good boy in obeying your unspoken demands. “US7684738. Here’s my ID. That should suffice as proof.”

 

“How much would you like to withdrawal today?” He asks, and you keep looking down at him as though looking at scum.

 

That’s how someone of your stature would look, you think. Usually you hid behind Hammer whenever dealing with the public. He didn’t want you to talk to anyone, and you didn’t like all of the attention on you. You always liked being able to hide back in your workshop whenever his attention wasn’t on you. “All of it.”

 

“All of it?”

 

You let out a soft chuckle at his incredulous expression. “I told you I need to speak with a manager.” You nod to his desk. “Unless you regularly have about 2 million sitting behind your desk?” You accentuate your question with an eyebrow that you hope comes off as sarcastic.

 

“Follow me.”

 

There were a few problems, but soon enough you had your hands on the cash and your location revealed to Hammer in one sweep.

 

Fun times. Very fun times.

 

You transfer the money into the backpack you left outside before ever entering the place. After about a block, you throw off the coat you were wearing in the trashcan. You wash the makeup off of your face in the bathroom at a small clothing shop you duck into. A few dollars later and you had new clothes. Hopefully you look different enough to throw off someone who could possibly be following you. Hopefully.

 

The route you take isn’t the fastest, but that wasn’t the point. The point was to, maybe, throw off anybody who could tailing you. Another way to help protect the people at your apartment, hopefully.

 

In there, you throw the bag down. “Non-sequential bills.” You shrug as you wave at the bag carelessly thrown down. “Closer to three million. I can’t believe he’s still putting money into that account.”

 

“You don’t have to do this.” Stevie (okay, so his name is Steve) reminds you, to which you just shrug as Scott Lang whistles at the bills.

 

You don’t focus on the near strangers, but on the one person you consider your friend. “I know. Its what friends do.”

 

The sound of someone chocking has you look to where Clint was sitting with one of your not so good pie creations in his lap. “What is this…”

 

You don’t know why he stops his question, at least until you look over at Bucky. “A pie.” You explain, jabbing your elbow into Bucky’s side. “I like to experiment.” You glare up at him, even as his face really does seem to morph into an innocent look, even if it is more tired than you remember his expressions being.

 

“It’s good.” Clint tries to look believable, but fails miserably. “Who wants to try a bite?” He asks, and you want to groan. You had a piece of that thing not that long ago, it was puke worthy.

 

Each of them had a bite of the thing, except for you. Each had looks of disgust, but refused to say anything. Eventually, you call it to a stop. “Seriously, people? The pie is gross. I’m surprised you could take more than one bite before throwing up. I didn’t.”

 

“Enough playing.” Stevie takes control; pushing his people to start following in with the plan. “Thank you, ma’am.” He tells you, and you want to correct him, but you don’t.

 

Everyone leaves, except for you and Bucky. “I guess this is good-bye?” You ask him, uncertain of what to expect from him.

 

“Just for a while.” Bucky shrugs, and you know he’s just trying to put you at ease. Most likely this was a ‘good-bye forever’, but people like to hope that they’ll meet each other again. “Sugar, thank you.”

 

Your smile is sad, but you force it for him. “For what? I was the one that kept breaking down and getting into trouble.” You try to joke it off, but the seriousness of this was really getting to you.

 

Bucky doesn’t rise to the bait, but just keeps looking down at you. “For being there. For being you.” He slowly bends down and puts his lips on yours.

 

The kiss wasn’t passionate, but a promise. The promise that you’ll meet again. The promise that things will work out. The promise…the promise that this really isn’t the end.

 

“Try not to get into too much trouble.” Bucky tells you, and you can’t stop the eye-roll as he finally joins his friends/teammates out in the hall. The door closes behind him, and your shoulders slump as the excitement fades away.

 

It was time for you to leave, too. It was only a matter of time before Hammer (or one of his lackeys) would track you down to this address.

 

“I’ll try.” You make the promise to him, and to yourself. Even if you don’t believe you’ll be able to keep it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed the story so far, and won't hate me for the epilogue I'll be uploading next.
> 
> I hope to hear from you readers, and what you think of the story.


	35. Epilogue: On the Run

Practice makes perfect, and this time was no different from the last. Everything was set up so it would seem as if you would be there for another two months, but you will be long gone before anyone thinks to check in on you. There was Bucky, but he was gone. No one here will notice, at least until everything came back around. Even then, they’ll just think you took off like the drifter you put on paper.

 

You grab the one bag you’ve put together to hold all of the tools of the trade. You have it set up so that the right mix of moves and the bag, with all of its contents, will destroy itself. Your creations cannot end up in the wrong hands. You learned that a long time ago. It may seem extreme, but you saw what happens when that occurs. Too many die. Too many _innocent_ people.

 

One more sweep before you go, but you have to hold back the emotions flittering around inside. Now was not the time to get emotional. You’ve done this before, but it was different this time. This time you have memories to leave behind. Memories of curling around someone that you’ve grown to care about. Memories of being able to truly be yourself. Here, you let go of the cloak that you’ve had since running away. Someone, many someone’s, know who you are, and didn’t treat you any differently because of it.

 

You pull on gloves and take a deep breath to let it go. You let go of the emotions and reminded yourself that the memories were your own. What happened here was something that you would get to keep close to heart, no matter what happens.

 

No matter what.

 

You lock the door behind you, because that is what you would normally do on a day out. You have to appear as though you will return, even if you aren’t going to. That’s a part of the game, or a part of the running play. They can never know what you are about to do. Be at least three steps ahead, with a plan already created for the fifth and sixth steps. That’s how you survived. That’s how you’ve kept your freedom.

 

The difference from this time and the times before, you casually drop the apartment key in one of the fake potted plants by the door. Eventually someone will find it. Eventually someone will do something with it. Eventually.

 

That is the word you keep in mind. Eventually. Eventually you’ll just be a passing memory. Eventually you’ll be just a ghost. You still wish that the same could be said for Hammer as for the people in this building and at work. His obsession was something that you still can’t quite understand.

 

There are plenty of other people out there who can do the same things that you can. You aren’t that special, not really. The only difference between them and you, is that he’s already trained you. Could that be why he is trying so hard to find you, even after all this time? Seems ridiculous, but that’s the most logical answer that you can conclude.

 

Or illogical, considering that you are thinking of yourself as a pet again. It was a bad habit that you hadn’t been having to fight since you started hanging around Bucky. He didn’t make you feel like a pet, and so you didn’t think of yourself in those terms. He saw you as a person. Sees. Bucky _sees_ you as a person, and so should you.

 

You watch your surroundings as close as you can on the way to the market. At the market you can fade into the crowds and disperse with one of the smaller groups within the crowd. A lone strangler is more likely to draw attention than someone on the outskirts of a small group. You learned that the second time you had to run. Hopefully you hadn’t waited too long before running this time.

 

Hopefully.

 

You have a tail. You look in the window to see the man you spot earlier show back yet again. You close your eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath to calm yourself. You can do this. This isn’t the first time you’ve caught the attention of unsavory individuals. They may not have anything to do with Hammer. He might just be a random person looking at the same stuff you are. It’s a possibility.

 

When another person joins up with him, you relax slightly. He was just waiting for his friend. Yeah. Just waiting for a friend.

 

You keep heading forward, hanging at the back of a group of tourists. You overhear them talking about the atmosphere and beauty. It really is a beautiful place. Too bad that you’ll never be able to come back. Once you have taken up residence in a place, it’s best to leave it for good. There are always people who remember, no matter how hard you try to not be remembered.

 

You take a glance behind you and don’t spot the two men from earlier. It was a coincidence, nothing more. Just a coincidence…

 

Large hands grab you and pull you away from the group you had been sort of a part of. You open your mouth to scream, but just get leather for your efforts. You snap you head back and crack with something that startles the person long enough to loosen their grip on you. You could use the skills that Bucky had tried so hard to train you in. You could pull out a weapon, one of the lethal ones, and take your attacker out. Kill them. You could. Easily.

 

You run.

 

You jump over trash and stray cats. You run past homeless people. You duck under hung laundry. You keep running. Moving is life. The faster you run, the further away from the attacker you get. The farther you go, the closer you are to freedom. The analysis sounds fine in your fear filled mind.

 

In your _fear filled mind_.

 

If you had been without fear, you would have noticed how the crowds had thinned even more. You would have realized that they were corralling you to a specific area. You would have realized it, but you were running on fear.

 

Around another corner and into a dead end. You turn around to leave to see your only exit trapped by a group wearing black. A quick glance tells you that not all of them are completely human. Most are, in fact, some form of humanoid robot.

 

The ones in the back don’t scare you nearly as much as the one in the front. Careful to not alert him to what you are doing, you pull on the strap while pushing the button on the side of your bag. You keep it at the ready. It was ready.

 

“Mr. Hammer has missed you.” The man in front that makes you flinch with every word out of his mouth steps in front of his people. “Time to go home.”

 

“I’m surprised.” You call out, not willing to get any closer than you already are. He steps closer, but you hold your ground. You see something above you move, but pass it off as nothing. “I didn’t think he’d send Dr. Doom after me.”

 

“You’ve been elusive.” He explains through his metallic mask. “Enough for him to call me in. Heard you’ve been keeping some interesting company. The Winter Soldier?”

 

There was a small beep, and that’s all you need to have you throw the bag straight at him in time for the self-destruct option come in handy. You duck and grab one of your pens in one hand and the gun in the other. The light is enough to blind, but you know it’s not enough to take out the Doctor.

 

A flash of red and blue has you turn your momentum to see someone come down on…spider web? You don’t even know anymore.

 

You don’t question the new person too much, because they are helping you with the drones while Doom moves to the back of the crowd. “What’d you do to get these goons on you?” The person in red, and yep- definitely a spider on his chest, tells you in a lighthearted manner.

 

You are either insane, or maybe this world really is as crazy as you. “I told their supplier no. What can you do?” You try to be lighthearted, but the stun was already out of your pen and the gun was out of bullets. You duck down behind a metal can and grab the goo gun out of your ankle holster. From your back you pull out another creation. You stand up and shoot one of the robots that was getting a bit close to your…helper? Savior?

 

“Cool color, dude.” The man, more like boy, comments on the bright blue good encasing the robot in place. Side effects.

 

You just aim with the other which sends out a specialized form of acid. “I prefer purple.” You tell him. “Thanks for the help, but you may want to leave.” No matter how many of those things the two of you are able to get rid of, there just seem to be more. Considering that it was Doom in charge of the army? Really no wonder.

 

“No can do.” The boy in red flips overtop two of them and webs another one into place. “Superheroes don’t leave their damsels behind.”

 

The goo gun jams, and you throw it down. Useless. “I’m not a damsel.” You grumble.

 

A thud and everything goes silent. “Pet?” You freeze at the old nickname, but you don’t respond. “Now, come on. Drop the weapons and we won’t your ‘savior’.”

 

You slowly poke up from where you had just ducked. You still have one of your creations in hand, but the clicking of a gun has you freeze. “Don’t.”

 

“Put it down, little pet.” Doom taunts, standing over the body of the red and blue clad boy who had dropped in to help. “Now.”

 

You glance down at the kid, and then move back to the man who was one of the stars in your nightmares. “On…only if you leave the kid alone, and here.” Eventually the boy will wake up. Eventually he’ll be okay enough to move on his own. Eventually, if he survives being unconscious.

 

“Deal.” Doom shrugs, already throwing the weapon that he really didn’t need off to the side. “But only if you agree to go willingly.”

 

You nod, not trusting your vocal words. You drop the weapon you still had on the ground and step around into the open. You glance at the motionless boy, but you don’t move to run to him. That would only give him more reason to actually hurt the kid stupid enough to step into a battle not his own.

 

Two different hands belonging to two different people encircle your upper arms. “Humans?” You question, because even though the people holding on to you look human that doesn’t mean much in this day and age.

 

“Hydra.” The one to your left answers, and you close your eyes in an attempt to block everything out. This can’t be happening. It just can’t be.

 

“Hydra?” You ask, but you know what it was/is. “Didn’t know Hammer was still supplying you guys.” Going by the past, they were getting the better weapons in storage than what he was selling the US government.

 

Someone backhands you, and you spit the blood out. “You have fire in you.” A hydra goon leans forward to stick his face in your own. “Hammer will beat it out of you soon enough.”

 

You tighten your lips, but don’t respond. He’s probably right. You’ll be punished for running away. You’re going to be punished for a lot of things.

 

You knew the you will when you ran, but you had to give it a chance. You wouldn’t trade your time of freedom for anything that Hammer will dish out.

 

You are quiet when they shove you on the plane. You are quiet, and appear to be almost accepting as the group guarding you dwindles down. You keep your calm. You are in control. They can do whatever they want to you, but they can’t get to _you._

 

At least until you are pulled into the mansion you grew up in, and look up into the brown eyes that floated about your mind to fill you with terror. You are in control, until you aren’t.

 

You struggle as he deliberately walks his way to you. Any of the training Bucky gave you is gone as you search for a way out. There is none. There is none, even as you feel the needle jab into your arm and the tranquilizer releases into your bloodstream.

 

“Welcome home, pet.”

 

Oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is an epilogue that is also a preview for the second part of Being Neighbors. The next part is, well, quite a bit darker than the first one.
> 
> Thank you readers for reading this story. It's one of my longest pieces to date, and I wouldn't have finished it without all of you. Can't wait to hear from all of you. I'd love to know what you think of the piece as a whole, or even just this last chapter. I really enjoy feedback, it tells me what you readers like and dislike. :)
> 
>  
> 
> On another note... I'm thinking of writing one from Bucky's POV spanning both this one and the next story. If there are any parts from this one that you would like to see from this POV, just drop it in the comments. I just think it'll be fun to see what's really going on behind that guarded smile. Especially in any of the "aw, that's cute" moments.
> 
> Hope to hear from you soon!!!


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